Frost and Iron
by FFcrazy15
Summary: Two duchies rebel against the Southern Isles to join the Northern League, sparking conflict between the Isles and Corona. As the threat of war builds, Arendelle is caught between her allies, and the yet-unmarried Hans and Elsa—dangerous players in their own right—must weigh their options, while behind it all, a political mastermind plays chess with nations. (Pierced Hearts sequel.)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

_Summary: __Two duchies rebel against the Southern Isles to join the Northern League, sparking conflict between the Isles and Corona. As the threat of war builds, Arendelle is caught between her allies, and the yet-unmarried Hans and Elsa—dangerous players in their own right—must weigh their options, while behind it all, a political mastermind plays chess with nations. (Pierced Hearts sequel.)_

* * *

"I still don't think it's fair."

The queen sighed as she tugged the silk over her fingers. "Anna, really, it's not that big of a deal."

Her younger sister gave her a flat look, crossing her arms. "You shouldn't have to hide who you are to make them more _comfortable."_

"I'm not hiding who I am." The queen gestured to her gown, which the princess had to grudgingly admit struck the perfect balance between displaying her sister's powers and flaunting them. The dress—a regal but thoroughly mundane gown and vest in deep purple—had been embellished as if painstakingly embroidered with frost rosmåling in fantastic spirals, and the vest was clasped with a heavy pin made of ice in the shape of a snowflake. The queen saw her sister's expression and settled a gentle, albeit gloved, hand on her shoulder. "Anna, look at it this way: people don't carry swords into a christening, do they?"

"...No," her sister admitted grudgingly.

"Well, for as beautiful as my magic can be, it's nonetheless still dangerous." She pulled on the other glove with a shrug. "And this _is_ a diplomatic situation. I think it's best if we approach this diplomatically, try to set people at ease."

"...Alright," her sister sighed. "I trust you. So long as you're not doing this—I don't know, for any sort of 'conceal, don't feel' reason. Alright?"

"Those days are long past," the queen reassured her, fixing her hair in the cabin looking-glass. "Besides, Hans is wearing his, too."

"Hans doesn't have your practice," Anna pointed out. "Speaking of which, where is he?"

"Up on deck, I expect. Do tell Kristoff to get dressed, will you? The captain said we should be arriving within the hour." She settled her crown carefully into her nest of pale hair. "That squall waylaid us quite a bit, we'll just barely be in time for the feast..."

"Yeah." Anna shuddered. The small storm which had beset the vessel some two days prior had been barely an inconvenience to the more experienced sailors, but to the two sisters it had been a nightmarish experience from which their nerves were still recovering. "I'll tell him. See you in an hour."

Elsa studied herself in the glass as her sister vanished, biting her lip. Anxiety had pushed her ordinarily fastidious nature into a fussy, almost obsessive state. Everything had to go _perfectly_ at the christening, her mind insisted; although she knew this wasn't strictly speaking true, and although she was aware that the gossips would never be satisfied, she couldn't help but feel as if the next twenty-four hours would determine the fate of the rest of her life.

_First the feast, then an after-dinner social hour with the Coronian royal family in the library. Then the christening tomorrow, a lady's tea, and the ball afterwards…_ She recited the itinerary as she ascended the faintly rocking steps to the upper deck. _A farewell breakfast the morning after, and then home again. _It was only three days, she reassured herself, barely more than two, even. She could handle that.

The air above-deck was fresh and cool in the spring sun, and smelled clean and salty. She breathed it in, the sun in her face. At the prow of the boat, near the wheel, she caught a glimpse of russet and white, and leaned against the wall near the door, crossing her arms with a smile.

The prince was deep in animated discussion with the navigator, gesturing to the open sea in the way that told the queen he was discussing some naval topic that was well out of her wheelhouse. His face was open and content, and his smiles—the genuine kind that he used when he wasn't trying to persuade somebody—came easily. For as much as she hated sailing, she loved seeing him like this; Hans had once told her that being at sea was the first time he'd ever felt really free in the course of a deeply unhappy childhood, and the delight he took in being on the open water had obviously not been diminished during his three-years' service in the navy. Even as she watched, he glanced over and saw her, and smiled broadly with a wave. Elsa brushed a stray strand of blonde hair out of her eyes, tugged as it was by the wind, and waved back.

Hans bade farewell to the navigator and approached, looking content and refreshed in the wind off the sea. She noticed his white cotton gloves had been shoved haphazardly into his jacket pocket. "My Queen," he greeted her, kissing her gloved hand. "You are looking lovely, if I might be permitted to say it."

"You're looking well yourself." She glanced him, briefly, up and down. The Arendellian naval uniform fit him well, and when she met his eyes again he was giving her a knowing smirk. She felt her cheeks color.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like—that. You smug bastard."

Hans actually laughed at that, leaning against the wall beside her. "How regal of you." Elsa stuck her tongue out at him. "I can see you've been spending a lot of time with Anna lately."

The queen rolled her eyes good-naturedly and looked out at the sea. The water, which had started off what she considered to be its ordinary deep blue, almost indigo color had been progressively lightening to match the shade of the sky as they left the darker and shadier realms of northern Arendelle and took out into the open reaches of the North Sea. "I can almost see why you love it," she murmured, watching the waves break and foam along the sides of the boat. "When it's calm it's almost beautiful."

"Beautiful things are always beautiful, even when they're not calm." His voice was wistful, but his eyes glanced to her. "But their beauty becomes a frightening one then."

"Stop trying to flirt with me, we're here on business."

"Our business, my queen, _is_ flirting, at least on this trip." She acknowledged this with a grudging nod. "Your kingdom may favor the union, but the international community is notoriously more difficult to convince."

"Mm." She fiddled absentmindedly with the ring on her finger through the glove; the setting caught against the silk briefly and then disentangled itself. "We're probably going to face awkward questions," she added.

"Can't be any worse than what some of your sailors said to me." She raised an eyebrow, and he cleared his throat meaningfully. "They seemed to think I was, ah, 'sticking swords where they didn't belong,' in more ways than one."

Elsa choked, turning red. "Y-You're not serious?"

"There were a few insinuations that I may have seduced you to get off the charges for regicide. I decided not to dignify them with a response."

"Smart man." She tilted her head. "Twenty-five and still unmarried, well, people were bound to talk…"

"Twenty-five isn't that old."

"It is for a queen."

His shadow abruptly blocked the sun, and she looked up to find his green eyes _burning._

"Well, we'll just have to fix that soon, won't we?" he said in that low, silky voice that sent shivers down her spine. Elsa opened her mouth desperately to respond, but felt the words die in her mouth as his fingers brushed back the unruly strand of blond hair behind her ear, down her cheek and, ever so briefly, against her neck.

"Um."

"At a loss for words, my queen?"

She rallied her mental defenses. "Smug bastard." She was rewarded with a deliciously devious chuckle.

"Elsa!"

She looked over abruptly and straightened up as Anna came bounding up the steps from the cabin. "A-Anna. Is something wrong?"

"I just saw a seagull fly past my porthole; that means we're close, doesn't it?"

"If we're close enough for gulls, we can't be far," Hans analyzed.

He wasn't wrong; before half an hour had passed, a thin strip of black had appeared on the horizon. The strip soon gained color and shape, and soon became two distinct masses: a small island city, and the much larger mainland beyond. It was at this point that they were joined by the fourth of their number. Elsa glanced at Kristoff as he approached behind Anna. "Arendellian clothing?" she noted aloud, seeing the trousers, vest and boots.

"Just for the feast. I'll be ambassador-y for the ball, don't worry. Heya, feistypants." He pressed a kiss into his wife's hair as he hugged her from behind, and Anna squealed.

"Don't tickle me!"

"I wasn't going to!"

"You know the rules, _no_ tickling me when I'm pregnant!"

"So little trust in me," the crown prince said, faking woundedness as he shook his head. "How far are we, Hans?"

"Another half hour, perhaps." His face was growing tight again. As they approached, the queen saw the prince nervously pull on his gloves, and when Anna and Kristoff (too preoccupied with being the embodiment of sap) weren't looking, she set a gentle hand on his elbow.

"Love thaws," she reminded him quietly. "Don't repress it. Channel it."

He gave an awkward nod. After discovering the existence of his powers three years earlier, and their unholy origin, Hans had displayed an uncanny amount of control over them that both had initially chalked up to his being a quick learner. It had not been until after a few incidents indicating otherwise (including one which nearly burned down part of the castle) that the pair had consulted Father Willum, the bishop of Arendelle and resident theological expert on all matters related to magic, and learned that Hans's apparent control over his magic in those early days was misleading at best. "Corrupted power is weakened power," the bishop had sagely explained. "Your magic is of divine origin; like a limb is stronger without disease, so is your magic stronger without the taint of evil. Your own royal self, my Queen, had so much difficulty learning to manage them precisely _because_ the power was pure and incorrupt." Newly blessed with such unadulterated magic himself, the prince had found it difficult to control whenever he wasn't surrounded by miles of seawater, and had taken to Elsa's old solution of wearing gloves at all times.

The ship drew nearer to the harbor of Corona, where dozens of royal vessels from kingdoms across Europe had already docked along the shore, their many-colored flags snapping in the wind. Anna let out a delighted gasp and leaned against the railing, pointing them out for Kristoff. "That's Dun Broch… and Francia…and...wait...Elsa, is that…?"

Anna trailed off uncertainly. There was a pause as Elsa tried to spot what had given her sister such concern, and then felt her heart skip a beat.

"That's...that doesn't make sense."

The flag waved cheerily in the breeze, incongruous to the nervousness it sparked in her chest. Elsa watched the red, white and black scrap of cloth from a distance as they glided towards the harbor.

"Isn't that the flag of the Northern League?" Kristoff asked, frowning.

"Yes, it is."

"What are they doing at a Coronian royal christening?" Anna asked, looking troubled. "You don't think…?"

The four looked at each other.

"Well," said Elsa at last. "I guess we're going to find out."

* * *

They were met at the docks by a carriage which took them through the winding streets of the town up to the castle, which sat at the top of the mountain island which housed Corona's capital city. On their way, Anna peppered Elsa with nervous questions.

"You don't think they're joining the League, do you, Elsa? I mean, Rapunzel would have written me, surely…"

"I don't know. It may have been a sudden decision. Or maybe they sent the invitation out of social graces."

"The House of Weiss wouldn't like that," Hans observed, watching out the window. The whole town had been done up in the purple and gold-sunburst banners of the Coronian royal family.

"Whatever it is, we're sure to find out at the dinner," Elsa said firmly. "Now I really wish we hadn't gotten caught in that storm…"

They arrived at the castle as the sun was setting. Coronian sunsets were spectacular, a watercolor painting of oranges and golds, struck through with violet and magenta. A cool spring breeze off the sea struck the young queen in the face as she disembarked from the carriage, and she paused, watching the sun sink. Nervousness was curdling in the pit of her stomach that had nothing, ironically, to do with the diamond ring on her finger.

A hand caught her elbow, and she looked back. Anna smiled encouragingly.

"Don't worry. I'll talk to Rapunzel, we'll figure out what's going on."

Elsa nodded, relaxing a bit. She'd appointed her baby sister ambassador to Corona for exactly these sorts of situations; she didn't have to handle it on her own.

They were met at the doors by footmen, who led them inside the castle. Even from a distance they could hear chatter and music from the dining room, and Elsa glanced to Hans. She saw that his brow was slightly furrowed, as if he were trying to deduce the atmosphere in advance from the level of conversation.

"Wait here," the footman told them outside the dining room doors, and slipped inside. There was a pause, and then the footman returned. "They're ready for you. Queen Elsa and guest?"

"Present."

"Right this way."

The doors were opened, and she was momentarily dazzled by the candlelight and gleam of the setting sun through the windows.

"Announcing Her Majesty, Queen Elsa Marie Andersen of the Royal House of Arendelle, _himmelenvelsignet_, first of her name and niece of the King of Corona; escorted by His Royal Highness Prince Johannes Andreas of the House of Westergaard, _himmelenvelsignet, _prince of the Southern Isles, admiral of Her Majesty's royal navy, knight of Arendelle and betrothéd to the Queen."

There was polite applause as she got her bearings and offered a gracious smile. The dining room was slightly crowded, as the table (normally set for ten) had been supplied with an extra leaf and was now set for twelve of Corona's closest allies. She saw the King and Queen seated at the far end of the table opposite her, flanked on their left by her cousin and the prince consort. Following them were Crown Prince Dubhghall and wife Maighred of Dun Broch, a rather aloof-looking ambassador from the Francian Dynasty of Bête, and—her heart jumped into her throat—seated directly to the right of the King, the Iron Chancellor himself.

"Announcing Her Royal Highness, Princess Anna Katheryna Andersen of the Royal House of Arendelle, ambassador to Corona and niece of the King; escorted by His Royal Highness, Prince Kristoff Nikkhe Bjorgman, Arendellian ambassador to the Northern Tribes and Royal Icemaster and Deliverer."

Her feet were walking away automatically, her seat approaching nearer. She glanced at Hans, and saw his eyes flicker to hers. A whole conversation was communicated in that glance: it had not escaped him either, then, that there were no representatives in attendance from the House of Weiss.

Hans pulled out her chair with a gracious flourish, and Elsa saw with relief that he'd taken the chair nearest the Chancellor. She glanced at the man, wondering if he'd noticed, but his heavily moustached face communicated nothing but genteel politeness. "Chancellor von Eisen," Hans greeted cordially as he sat. "Truly this is an honor; I've heard a great deal about you, but have never had the pleasure of meeting in person."

"Prince Johannes Westergaard. An honor; I have heard much about you as well." The Chancellor's gray eyes swept from him to the queen. "Queen Elsa. A double honor, it seems."

"Ah– yes." She was fumbling, and realized she wasn't sure whether he'd meant that the honor was his or hers.

"How do you find Corona this fine evening?"

Hans's hand took hers, and she found her moorings again. "As lovely as ever. Springtime is so beautiful here." She thanked the servant pouring her wine and added: "My mother used to tell me tales of Corona's beauty when I was younger, but I never thought the reality could measure up until I visited two years ago."

"Did she?"

"Oh, yes. She talked often of playing in the palace apple orchard as a girl. Her childhood here must have been positively enchanted." She realized the obvious pun the moment the words left her lips, and thought she saw Hans suppress a smirk.

"Your mother loved springtime." Elsa looked over to find Queen Ariana smiling gently at her. "It was her favorite season of the year. We spent hours playing in the royal gardens as girls, although I recall she liked the plum blossom trees best."

"Plum blossom trees?" Something about the phrase sparked a realization, and she pinked. "How lovely…"

Queen Ariana smiled, a perfectly elegant smile that made the young queen slightly jealous. She had surely noticed Elsa's accidental slight, for of course the apple trees had probably been a gift from the House of Weiss in a past century, but she papered over it with flawless grace. The reigning monarch of Corona was everything a queen ought to be, everything Elsa remembered her mother being. "Your mother thought so, too."

"I see…"

As Anna and Kristoff took their seats, King Frederick rose, and conversation was quelled. "Good evening to all of you," he said solemnly, "and welcome to our kingdom. We are honored by your presence on this most blessed of occasions." He smiled to his daughter and son-in-law. "I am a lucky man indeed, to be blessed not only by my wonderful wife and daughter, but likewise by an excellent son-in-law and not one, but _two_ beautiful grandchildren. Rarely, I think, has there been a happier king, or man, than I."

There was a smattering of polite applause. A pause followed, and then King Frederick took a deep breath.

"We are pleased to announce, however, not merely one happy occasion this evening, but two. As some of you may be aware, we were approached last month with an invitation from the Kaiser himself to join the Northern League." He nodded to Chancellor von Eisen, who rose to his feet. "I am pleased to say that this very morning, in the presence of Chancellor Otto von Eisen acting as the Kaiser's ambassador, we accepted this invitation. As of this day, Corona is pleased to welcome you as guests of the Northern League."

The applause that followed was far more enthusiastic, in contrast to the faces Elsa saw around the table: expressions of shock swiftly masked by nervous cordiality. She glanced to Hans, and then to Anna and Kristoff, and saw three wide-eyed, stunned expressions looking back at her. She was certain the same was mirrored on her own face.

One by one the foreign diplomats rose to their feet as the applause continued, and the young Queen of Arendelle, ally of Corona, found herself swept up in the motion like flotsam in a tide.

* * *

"Brandy? _Aperitif?"_

"No, thank you."

Rapunzel set the decanter aside nervously and sat down on the opposite sofa. The fire crackled warmly in the background, and the sky beyond the balcony doors glittered as if with a thousand diamonds. A few candles had been lit in the room, but aside from their small halos of light and the glow from the fire, the sitting room was cast in shadow.

"Where are King Frederick and Queen Ariana?" Anna asked, standing behind Elsa with her hands clasped on the sofa.

"Mama and Papa went to bed. It's been a long day for them."

"I imagine it was," Hans murmured.

"Since I'm the ambassador to Arendelle they thought it best I explain things." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you. There wasn't time."

"I thought the King said you received the letter over a month ago," Anna replied, and Elsa could tell she was struggling to keep the notes of accusation out of her tone.

"We did. But we weren't sure whether we were going to accept until this morning, when…"

"When the Chancellor himself showed up," Hans surmised. Rapunzel nodded. "Was he invited?"

"We invited an ambassador from the League to the baptism. We didn't think they'd send von Eisen…"

The conversation paused as the door opened, and Prince Eugene slipped inside, closing the door. "How are they?" Rapunzel asked.

"Sleeping. The nursemaid's with them." He gave a nod. "Hey, everyone."

"Hey." Elsa glanced to Kristoff, who was leaning against the wall near the fire. His arms were crossed and his eyebrows knit, in the way that meant he was thinking everything over. As one of her ministers of trade, she imagined he was probably running through scenarios of how this would affect business between Arendelle and Corona.

Eugene sat down beside his wife. "So. The Northern League," he said, leaning his elbows on his knees. Nods went around the room.

"Does the rest of the kingdom know? Does the rest of the _world _know?"

"We're announcing it tomorrow at the christening ball."

"How are your subjects going to take it?" Hans asked.

"We're not sure."

"I thought the Northern League wasn't interested in Traditionalist kingdoms," Anna pointed out. Eugene shrugged.

"We think he's realized he can't unify the kingdoms if he insists on everyone being Reformist. Maybe he thinks if we go, the rest of the Traditionalist kingdoms will be more likely to follow."

"But why now?" Anna demanded. "The House of Weiss is going to be _furious–"_

"It's because of the House of Weiss that we have to go," Rapunzel sighed.

"What do you mean?"

Silently the princess retrieved a letter from the pockets of her dress and passed it to Anna. As she did so, Elsa caught sight of the broken apple-and-dagger seal glinting in the firelight. Anna unfolded the letter, scanned it, and went pale. She looked up.

"You're kidding."

"If we don't make the choice ourselves, the League will make it for us, sooner or later," Eugene said grimly. "We're a small kingdom, Anna, almost completely surrounded by Reformist and unified kingdoms. The House of Weiss has decided it wouldn't be worth the risk to send an army to defend a lost cause in a war they couldn't win. They've cut their losses and left us to the mercies of the League."

"These empire-builders," Elsa said bitterly, but her cousin only smiled sadly.

"You mean like your great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather?" The queen flushed and glanced guiltily to Kristoff, who pretended not to notice. "Corona has always been happy to be a small kingdom, but we knew this could happen eventually. Big nations gobble up little nations, and then eventually get too big and fracture under revolution. It's the way the world is."

"So this is conquest in the modern era," said Hans. "Quietly, over tea, with a pen instead of a sword."

Rapunzel's eyes flashed at that. "Of course we'd prefer to remain free!" she said fiercely. "But Mama and Papa did what they had to do, for the good of our kingdom. Wouldn't you do the same?"

"But to give up your independence…" Anna trailed off.

"The world is changing, cousin. Francia has finally stabilized, Dun Broch has colonies across the globe, and as for Ruthinia…" Rapunzel sighed. "The days of small kingdoms are over. Corona doesn't have the land or resources of Arendelle; either we join with an empire by choice or by force, and the House of Weiss is falling behind. They're still locked in the eighteenth century."

"It's not all bad," Eugene pointed out. "There are real benefits to joining the League. The economic effects alone will be a welcome boost here. And after the House of Weiss abandoned us," he added bitterly, "they can't expect us to behave any different."

This could hardly be denied. While Corona had an excellent Navy, rivaling even that of the Southern Isles, the League was powerful in terms of both clout and the size of its land armies, and was growing more powerful by the month. Indeed, Elsa thought wryly, by the day. The room descended into a melancholy silence.

"We're glad you've come," Rapunzel said at last, with a tired smile. "This is a wonderful time, for all of us. Anna, Kristoff—congratulations, Eugene and I were so happy when we heard." The princess smiled despite herself and placed a hand over the small swell in her belly. "And to you, too," Rapunzel said sincerely to Elsa and Hans, who glanced to each other with fond looks and linked hands. "When is the wedding set for?"

"A year from next week." Hans squeezed Elsa's hand gently. "We can hardly wait."

"Considering how often I've caught you making out in the library, I'm surprised you are," Anna said frankly, causing the queen to whirl around with a hiss:

"Anna!"

"What? It's true."

Rapunzel giggled. "It really has been too long. We need to get together more often." She yawned. "But right now, I think I need some sleep…"

"I'm right behind ya, Blondie." Eugene stood. "We'll see you guys tomorrow at the christening."

"Goodnight." The Coronian royals left, Rapunzel kissing Anna on both cheeks before departing. The doors closed shut with a soft _click _behind them, leaving the Arendellians alone.

Elsa sighed and stood, pacing to the balcony doors and pulling off her gloves. Frost followed her across the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. "Elsa?" Anna said anxiously.

The queen stared out at the stars for a long moment, before turning back around with a forced smile on her face.

"Let's get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow. You especially, Anna; I'm sure King Frederick and Queen Ariana will want to discuss how this affects our treaties."

"Right, good point." Her sister stood. "You coming, Kristoff?"

"Yeah. I should probably write a letter back to Master Folkestad, he'll want to hear about this personally…"

The pair left together, so that the queen and prince were left alone in the room. Elsa watched Hans for a long moment, as he stared into the crackling fire, his green eyes glinting with a calculating gleam in the red light.

"You should take off the gloves."

He looked over, startled. The fire flared abruptly and settled. "Pardon?"

"Your gloves, you should take them off." She nodded to the fire. "I can see you want to."

He gave a short breath of a laugh. "I don't think burning down the Coronian castle is going to help our diplomatic relations, Elsa."

"You're not going to burn down the castle." He gave her a look. "...Again," Elsa relented. "Anyway, I'm here to stop you if things go badly."

After a moment's hesitation, he tugged off the cotton gloves. The fire sputtered, sparks scattering across the carpet. Elsa sat down beside him, removing her own.

"Learning how to control it," she instructed, glowing snowflakes appearing in the air over her hand and hovering with a faint blue light, "comes from your mind, and your heart." She raised her hands gently, like a conductor in front of a symphony, and frost curled up over the stone of the fireplace in beautiful spirals. The prince watched in fascination as the shapes rose and faded, transforming from snowflakes and crocuses into sunbursts and then back again. "Your magic is a part of you now, part of who you are. It can't be repressed; if you try, it'll burst out in unexpected ways. You have to channel it instead."

The frost faded away, and she looked over. He was staring at her, his green eyes entranced.

"You're beautiful."

The queen smiled softly and took his hand. "What would you think," she said carefully, "about me making you king, after our marriage?"

The prince paused, tilting his head.

"You...know my feelings on the matter. I have, after all, made them _painfully_ obvious." Her mouth twitched. "Elsa, you should consider what is best for Arendelle and then do as you deem right. I made you a promise that I would not ask you for the crown and I will abide by that oath."

"But on the level of my friend." Her blue eyes were searching his. "On the level of my _advisor, _do you think the man I am courting would make a good king?" He hesitated. "I trust you to answer honestly. Really. This isn't you manipulating my decision."

He looked back to the snapping hearth and held out his hands. A tongue of fire leapt out crackling logs and to his palm, dancing cheerfully and lacing itself around his fingers as if it knew it belonged there.

"…I think he would make a good king, yes."

"As do I."

The tongue of flame leapt back into the hearth to join its brethren, and the two shared a companionable smile.

* * *

"_...sanctorum communionem, remissionem peccatorum, carnis resurrectionem, et vitam æternam?"_

"_Credo."_

The squat, white-moustached bishop motioned for them to come forwards. Anna and Kristoff followed the Coronian royals to the baptismal font, where Rapunzel passed the infant to Anna. Elsa, standing with the rest of the congregation, was momentarily dazzled by the blinding brilliance of the sunshine, beaming down through the Coronian cathedral's high windows, onto the white baptismal gown as the baby prince cooed and squirmed.

"_Princeps Eugenium II, vis baptizari?"_

"_Volo," _the four answered in unison on behalf of the child, and the bishop scooped a dishful of water out of the font with the shell-shaped gilt christening bowl. _"Ego te baptizo…"_

"He's here," a voice whispered, just barely audible, and Elsa glanced upwards. Hans nodded just a hair's breadth to a pew on the other side of the aisle. She glanced sideways to see von Eisen standing with his hands clasped, face impassive and stately as ever.

_The times we live in…_ She looked forward again as the baby began to squall at the cold water. A Reformist statesman at a Traditionalist christening ceremony, well, that was something you didn't see every day.

"_...Amen."_ The bishop handed a towel to Anna, who dried the unhappy infant off and passed him back to his mother as applause filled the cathedral and the organ began to play. The parents and godparents returned to the front pew, Rapunzel bouncing the child to soothe him. "He's so cute, isn't he?" Anna whispered fondly as the baby whimpered and quieted again.

"You'll have one of your own soon."

Anna winked at her. "And so will you."

Elsa blushed. "You don't know that."

"C'mon, stability of the line and everything!"

"That's why _you're_ here, little sister." Anna giggled under her breath and then glanced sideways.

"Did you see?" Elsa nodded with a soft hum, covered up by the chorus of the hundred-strong congregation as everyone began to sing. "This whole place is gonna go off like a powder keg at the ball…"

"The gossips will be busy for weeks."

"No kidding. I spoke to Queen Ariana this morning. She wants to meet with us to discuss our treaty before you leave."

"Alright. Tell her we'll meet with her tomorrow morning, before the farewell breakfast."

"Good idea."

* * *

The celebration ball commenced shortly after the baptismal Mass in the grand banquet hall. Elsa stepped aside before entering and, with a wave of her hand, turned her somewhat more conservative dress from the ceremony into a properly celebratory gown, complete with layers of sheer ice skirts and petticoat and a wide-necked bodice in sparkling ice crystals. Anna beamed.

"That's the best one yet!"

"Thank you. I had the royal tailor sketch up the designs…"

Anna glanced to Hans with a grin that was clearly biting back a snicker. He gave her a dour look. "Oh, very funny."

"It _was_ funny."

"It was an _accident."_

"Just got to see some of what I missed out on," the princess chirped, taking her husband's arm as their name was called by the footmen. Hans spluttered nonsensically after her and then turned to his fiancée, who was politely suppressing a smirk.

"Not you too."

"Hans, really, what were you _expecting_ when you tried to make clothes out of _fire?"_

"You make yours out of ice!"

"Ice doesn't _destroy cloth."_

He rolled his eyes. Both looked up as their names were called. "Are you ready?" the queen asked quietly.

"I'm always prepared for a ball."

"Fair enough."

He squeezed her hand through the elbow-length gloves. "I'm right here if you need me," he added encouragingly. She nodded.

They entered through the side doors and gave polite waves to the applauding crowd. Elsa scanned the faces and found, to little surprise, that many of them were caught between marvelling at her dress and curiosity at the pair. They descended the dais as another name was called and joined the crowd.

"Wow, it _is _cold," she heard someone whisper behind her, and glanced back, but couldn't tell who in the press of dignitaries had made the comment. She bunched her hands in the icy skirts nervously and watched as other foreign ambassadors were introduced.

The attention was quickly taken off of them, however, as the list of introductions drew at last to a halt and King Frederick stood from his throne to make the announcement. As the words washed over the crowd, Elsa primed her ears for the murmurs. To her surprise, the citizens of Corona, all of whom had been invited to the ball for such a momentous occasion, were letting out hushed exclamations of delight. She shared a look with her fiancé.

"I guess they're in favor of it," he whispered back. "I suppose the decision will help the economy…"

"Like Rapunzel said, it was join the League or be conquered by someone else. I think they know that. At least this way it ends without bloodshed."

Hans _"mmed"_ as the musicians struck up another upbeat waltz. Elsa saw the Chancellor across the room nodding his head, and then looked sideways as Hans began to murmur something under his breath. "You know this one?"

"It's Teutonian in origin—the kingdom the Chancellor and Kaiser hail from." He hummed. _"'Ich kenn dich, ich war bei dir einst einmal im traum…'_ There's an old _märchen_ associated with it, from the kingdom's founding."

"The princess caught in the hundred-years' sleep."

"Mm." He extended a hand. "Shall we dance?" She glanced to the open floor. "Don't, not can't," he reminded her.

"Just this one," she relented, taking his hand. "Then I want some punch."

They joined the twirling couples on the gleaming floor, the ice hem of her skirts making a faint rustling noise against the floor. The queen smiled as the prince spun her, his hand inching from the small of her back to rest on her hip. She could feel the heat of his palm even through his glove and the ice. "You're melting my dress," she whispered, covertly fixing it with a wave of her hand as he led her three steps backwards. She was rewarded with his blush.

"Apologies."

"Control yourself," she whispered in his ear as he spun her again. The heat from his palm grew abruptly hotter, and he yanked it upwards to the small of her back as the melted crystals reformed.

"Tease," he said with a scowl. She chuckled.

He twirled her in unison with the other guests, and as she spun she caught sight of a few unusual faces. "Look to the right," she said quietly as they came together again. He did. A man in a business suit of Western cut was dancing with a young woman in a pale blue dress. "Isn't that the ambassador from the Colonies Across the Sea?"

"Yes...and they just got out of a civil war…"

"What is he doing at a Coronian baptism?"

Hans shook his head, bemused. Then his face changed. "Look." He nodded over Elsa's shoulder, and as they turned she peered through the crowd. A woman in a dazzling scarlet robe with silver clasps and an ornate headdress and veil was speaking to a Coronian noblewoman. "That's the crown princess of the Levantine Empire."

"What on earth…?"

"There's no reason for Corona to send an invitation for a _christening_ to the Levantine Empire. It would be insulting to both parties." Hans's brows were furrowed. "They themselves must have formally requested to attend."

"Why would they do that?" Elsa inquired, baffled. "Do you think they knew about Corona joining the League?"

"How could they? Rapunzel said her parents made the decision yesterday. And one Germanic kingdom joining the Northern League is hardly an international event."

The waltz ended, and they broke apart. "I'll get us some punch," Hans said in a low voice. "You ask around, find out what's going on."

They separated, Elsa making her way to the side of the ballroom. She was met by Kristoff, who was dressed in his formal blue gákti and his royal medallion. "Elsa, is it just me, or do there seem to be a lot of people here who shouldn't be?"

"Hans and I noticed it too. Find Anna and stick close to her, just in case."

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't know. But this whole situation has my teeth on edge."

He nodded and vanished back into the crowd. Elsa was just looking around when a hand caught her arm, and she turned.

It was the Levantine princess. Elsa quickly curtsied. "Sultana Masoumeh. An honor."

"Queen Elsa." The princess returned the gesture, speaking in heavily accented Germanic. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I have heard a great deal about you." Her dark eyes flickered to Elsa's gown and then back up again, and the queen nervously clasped her hands.

"Yes, well. Word travels fast these days."

"Indeed. I hear you are betrothed. My congratulations."

"Thank you."

"And your husband-to-be, where is he?"

The queen felt the ice crystals sprouting under the gloves, minute in reality but to her mind, jagged and obvious. "Ah, he went to get us some punch."

The sultana hummed. "Your title, it included a word I did not understand. I am curious; could you tell me what it meant?"

"Sorry, which word?"

The princess repeated a somewhat incorrect version of the Arendellian words, and Elsa nodded. "Ah. _Himmelenvelsignet, _it means 'blessed of heaven.'"

"Ah. Because of your miraculous gift, yes?"

"Yes, exactly."

"And your betrothéd too, yes?"

Elsa bit her tongue. "Yes."

"I see." From the way the princess was studying her, Elsa got the feeling that she _did_ see, and perhaps rather too well, though _what_ she saw the queen couldn't quite discern. Thankfully, the sultana looked away to the rest of the dancing crowd. "It is a lovely party."

"Yes, my sister—our ambassador here—tells me they spent a great deal of time preparing for it."

"Oh yes, Corona is your closest ally, are they not?"

Elsa stared. "...Yes, they are."

The princess looked back to her with a smile. "Tell me, what do you think of their—what is that word?—_unification, _with the Northern League?"

"Ah…"

* * *

Across the ballroom, Hans was making his way towards Rapunzel and Eugene, a question already on his tongue, when a man suddenly seemed to appear out of the crowds. "Excuse me, Prince Johannes?"

"Ah—yes?"

"Would you mind coming with me?"

Hans glanced to the Coronian royals. "As it happens, I'm rather–"

"We understand. When would you be available? The Chancellor wishes to speak with you."

_Ah. _Hans turned to the man, giving him his undivided attention. "I can come immediately."

"Right this way, your Highness."

He was redirected to the side of the ballroom, where the Chancellor stood with a glass of champagne. The circle of foreign diplomats around him cleared with a word, leaving Hans abruptly alone with, possibly, the most terrifying man in Europe.

"Prince Johannes."

"Chancellor von Eisen."

"Champagne?"

He held out a glass. Hans accepted but didn't drink it.

"It isn't poisoned."

Hans flashed a brief smile. "Respectfully, Chancellor, I want my wits about me for this conversation."

The empire-builder chuckled. "Fear not, your Highness; I have no intention of discussing politics in the middle of such a festive celebration."

If Hans believed that for a second, he was the dumbest man in Corona. "I imagine you have much to celebrate."

The man nodded, just once. "Indeed. As much as yourself, I daresay. Congratulations on your engagement to the queen."

"Ah—my thanks."

"You must be a man of no small political talent, to achieve such a match."

_That_ was loaded. Hans was used to similar barbs from foreign diplomats, casting slights at his and the queen's _unusual_ history, but strangely the Chancellor did not seem to be mocking him. If anything, he sounded...impressed. Uncertain how else to respond, Hans nodded again and repeated, "My thanks. That is a high compliment from a man such as yourself."

Feeling it would be rude to refuse, he took a sip of the champagne and watched the mingling guests. Von Eisen appeared to be waiting for him to speak first, and at last Hans relented. "If I might ask you, Chancellor, why Corona?" he said bluntly, albeit in a low voice. "I was under the impression that the League was not interested in Traditionalist kingdoms."

"The Church and I have reached an agreement." Hans inclined his head and took another sip of his champaign, thinking quickly. "I assure you, Arendelle is quite safe."

"Is it?"

"We are not interested in Scandinavia."

"Is that so?"

The Chancellor shrugged. "You stand on the world stage, move across it as you please. Look around you, your Highness." He gestured to the swirling skirts and gleaming boots, the dignitaries of powerful nations. "This is the world. The Germanic kingdoms must unify to become a part of it."

"Or they will be swallowed up by larger empires."

"Precisely. There is strength in us, your Highness, but the people must be compelled to recognize it, to find it in themselves. Otherwise, we apart remain but a handful of small kingdoms, held together loosely by alliances."

"Such as those made with the House of Weiss."

"Arendelle is Corona's closest ally. I have no doubt that her Highness the Princess has related to you how undependable the House of Weiss can be."

Hans took another careful sip of the wine. "...I have heard the story of your kingdom's origins, sir."

"Yes, I'm sure you have."

"The story holds that the newborn princess was cursed by an evil witch to fall into a hundred-years' sleep upon her sixteenth birthday should she prick her finger upon a spindle, to be awoken only by a true love's kiss." The story came easily; it had been one of his favorites as a child. "The king ordered every spindle in Teutonia burnt, and the girl was spirited away by her nursemaids to a cottage in the forest to protect her, but despite their best efforts the princess was tricked by the witch and pricked her finger upon the spindle. The witch cast a spell of eternal slumber on the kingdom and grew a forest of briars around the castle, and imprisoned the prince of the neighboring kingdom lest he prove to be the princess's one true love."

His eyes found Elsa across the room, where she seemed to be engrossed in conversation with the sultana. "But by the aid of the nursemaids the prince escaped, crossed the briar forest, slew the witch in her draconian form and woke the princess from her sleep," he finished. "And with her the rest of the kingdom arose from their hundred-years' slumber before a single night and day had passed."

"And?" the Chancellor prompted.

"And– well– that's the end," Hans finished lamely, returning to the present moment.

"And from that end, the dynasty of Teutonia arose," the Chancellor concluded, and the prince flushed as he realized that, of course, this was history they were discussing and not some schoolboy _märchen. _"You are a man who likes fairytales, aren't you, Prince Johannes?"

"I think they teach us things," Hans answered, a tad defensively. "Things we wouldn't be able to see otherwise."

"Then you are an interesting sort of man, your Highness."

"And why is that?"

The Chancellor cast him a look out of the corner of his eye. "Not all men think in terms of fairy tales."

"No," Hans acknowledged, before adding boldly: "But you do."

The Chancellor gave a brief smile. "Fairytales teach us, do they?" he said, almost amused. "Then perhaps this is what I learned from our national _märchen, _your Highness: that it takes a certain sort of man to defeat a dragon and wake a people from its slumber."

Hans stared. He had the feeling he'd just been outwitted. He didn't like it very much.

"As it happens, it is interesting you should speak of fairy tales."

"Is it?"

The Chancellor inclined his head. "My son is rather partial to yours."

The prince felt his face flood with color. "I-I don't know what you mean."

"Don't worry, I shall not reveal you. Men such as ourselves do need a hobby, after all. I myself enjoy attending the theater on occasion. I don't know if you know this—very few have heard this—but in university I actually participated in a few productions myself."

The prince was enjoying the feeling of being wrong-footed less and less. He highly doubted the Chancellor was telling him about this for no good reason. "Were you?"

"Mm. Although I must admit, your Highness, if you did not want to be found out you might have chosen a less obvious pen name. _Andersen, _I ask you…"

"Ah. Well." He cleared his throat. "Does your grandson have a favorite?"

The Chancellor nodded. "The Snow Queen."

_Smug bastard._ "I see…"

"As a sign of my gratitude for your excellent work, allow me to present you with this." He nodded to a man Hans hadn't noticed standing in the background, who stepped forward and handed the Chancellor a book, which was then passed to the prince. Hans studied the cover. It was a beautiful, heavy leather-bound tome, with curling gilt bossing on the cover, culminating in the title. He looked up.

_"Grimm's Fairy Tales."_

"All of our national stories and epics. I believe the founding of the House of Weiss is even included."

"Thank you. I will treasure this."

The Chancellor nodded with a smile, and then looked up. "Ah, Ambassador Leroux, always a pleasure…"

The Francian diplomat he had seen the previous evening at the feast had cut through the crowd, holding a nearly empty glass of champagne. "Chancellor von Eisen." Hans noted that the man, despite only being half an hour into the ball, was already flushed in the face, and walked with the swagger of a man who is not quite sober on either alcohol or self-importance. "Wonderful ball, isn't it?"

"Certainly. But of course," von Eisen lifted his own flute in mild toast, "the League in particular has much to celebrate tonight."

_"Oui,_ we have been watching the growth of your little Germanic empire."

Hans took a hasty gulp of champagne to hide a startled laugh. Of course, everybody was always keeping a wary eye on everybody else in the political world, but it was bad tact to acknowledge it. _And "little Germanic empire?" Is the man a fool or drunk, or both?_

If he was insulted, however, the Chancellor didn't show it. "Have you? I'm pleased to hear it. And how fares the House of Bête?"

"The Emperor is most beloved by his subjects!" The ambassador's voice pitched itself slightly too high, and slightly too loud, drawing giggles from a few nearby Coronian citizens. "He is a great modernizer who will bring Francia into the nineteenth century!"

"Indeed. More champagne, ambassador?" Von Eisen waved down a passing servant, who proffered Leroux with another flute of wine. The man immediately downed a third of it.

_"Merci,_ thank you. Good stuff, isn't it?"

"Excellent. You know, Ambassador, I have a particular vintage from your fine kingdom..."

The conversation meandered for some time around alcohol, while Hans, waiting patiently to the side, watched the ambassador get thoroughly drunk. Once Leroux's face had gone from merely pinked to a somewhat pomegranate flush, the Chancellor smoothly, and abruptly, switched back to politics.

"I am most interested in Francia's modernization. I hear Pari has recently begun laying telegraph lines?"

"Of course! The Emperor wants to make Francia a thoroughly modern land. He has made significant contributions to our universities-!"

"Indeed? Modernizing is such a difficult business. Take the Unified Colonies; their civil war was certainly an event to keep an eye on."

Hans almost dropped his glass, staring open-mouthed at the Tuetonian statesman. He knew something about playing with fire—about the exhilaration of it, if nothing else, and he could see the amused glint in the Chancellor's eyes as he dangled the world-altering hint in front of the drunk ambassador's eyes. _He's having fun._ Tempting fate. The Colonies Across the Sea had brought warfare into the modern era, with their train-tables and telegraph lines, and although the prince had taken quite an interest in it, nearly all of Europe had written off the distant war as a foreign land's internal problem. It seemed that the Chancellor, however, had not been ignorant of its significance, either. Breaking the news to the rest of Europe could greatly alter any future wars.

"Yes, well," the diplomat sniffed. "They are a young nation. Francia is a land as old as time—even if we must move _with_ the times, no? Ho-ho!" He gave a haughty belly laugh.

"But of course. At any rate, do give the Emperor my regards."

"But of course, but of course! _Bonne soirée,_ Chancellor."

Hans felt himself physically relax, secondhand adrenaline from the risky move still pumping through his veins. "That poor man," the Chancellor remarked as the ambassador sauntered away.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He doesn't realize his government is built on a house of cards. I give them, oh, ten years before Francia collapses again." He watched the ambassador peacocking through the crowd. "Make that eight."

"How do you know?" Hans inquired, awed despite himself. "I thought Francia had finally stabilized."

"His 'emperor's' legitimacy is built entirely on military posturing, bombast and his uncle's legacy. The moment they lose a war, it all falls apart."

"You are not exactly a pacifist yourself, sir." Hans took another sip of champagne and then glanced down at the bubbling wine suspiciously. It was nearly half gone. He added in an undertone: "You can hardly expect me to believe that your offer of unification to Corona would have been followed by mere pleasantries if unheeded. And referencing the Colonies' war was certainly a risk."

The Chancellor laughed, an unexpectedly booming sound that drew the attention of several nearby partygoers. Hans started. "I like you, Prince Johannes of the House of Westergaard," the statesman chuckled. "You're as blunt as an idiot and as clever as a knave. A thoroughly likable man."

"Thank you, sir…?"

"It was foolhardy, I know, but you seemed the sort of man who's already been considering it, and he will disregard it offhand." Hans had to concede this with a nod, though he noted the unspoken message: the Chancellor had been testing _him_ as much as toying with the ambassador. "However, you misunderstand the Northern League, your Highness, if you believe we are warmongers." The Chancellor's expression had turned ever so mildly thoughtful. "We have a critical purpose. These mere alliances are not sufficient to protect our many small realms from being eaten up by outside states with no love for our people or culture. The Germanic kingdoms _must_ unify—and they will not do so under the House of Weiss."

"Not so long as Weiss has non-Germanic holdings in southeastern Europe, which they would have to relinquish," Hans acknowledged.

"Indeed. The League sees the import of creating a properly _Germanic _empire, and this necessity may currently escape small realms such as Corona. Some must therefore be persuaded. But we are as willing to accept a peaceful unification as a bloody one. Indeed, we prefer it."

Hans bit back the retort on his tongue, deciding not to remind von Eisen of his most famous moniker: the _Iron _Chancellor. "I see."

"I'm glad to hear it." Abruptly, von Eisen set his empty champagne flute down upon a circling tray as a servant passed. "If you will excuse me, Prince Johannes, I spy the ambassador from Ruthinia, with whom I really must have a word. Do enjoy the book."

"I– yes. Thank you, sir."

And that was the end of the conversation. Hans watched as the Chancellor strode away and gave a long, slow blink.

_Ahah. So that's how it feels to talk to me, then._

* * *

On the other side of the ballroom, the sultana nodded as Elsa finished giving an appropriately non-committal reply as to her opinion of her closest ally's abrupt loss of independence to the League. "...Corona must make its own decisions," Elsa concluded, rather lamely in her own opinion, "Though we remain, as ever, their friends and allies."

"I see." The Princess Masoumeh gave an appreciative nod. "Arendelle's famed loyalty to its allies is, it seems, carried on in your rule as it was in your father's, your Majesty."

"Ah– yes, of course."

"Even in my country, we have heard tale of the wise queen of Arendelle." Elsa blushed. "We have a gift we would like to present to you—a small token of our desire to deepen a mutually beneficial friendship."

"A-a gift?" Elsa's mind suddenly was whirling. They had come to the Coronian baptism, with a gift for _her?_

"Certainly. You are, I hear, a fan of philosophy?

"I–" _How did they know that?_ "Yes, I am."

"Then, please, accept this gift." A servant who had been attending from the background approached Elsa and handed her a parcel wrapped in fine silk which, once unwrapped, revealed a thin tome. Elsa scanned the title and looked up, startled.

"Averroes's comentary on the _Republic. _It's never been translated into Arendellian. How did you…?"

"Consider it a wedding gift from the Grand Sultan. We wish you a happy marriage."

Elsa curtsied, dumbfounded. "Please relate my gratitude."

As the sultana swept gracefully away, Elsa felt a presence at her back and turned to find Hans standing there, two glasses of punch in hand and a thick book tucked under his arm. "Sorry, got pulled away. How are you doing?" he asked, handing her a glass.

"I'm not sure," Elsa murmured. "Yourself?"

"The same." He noticed the book in her hand. "Where did you get that?"

"Where did you get _that?"_ She nodded to his own.

"Long story, I'll tell you later. Good afternoon, Princess Maighred…"

* * *

_"Herr_ Chancellor."

The empire-builder turned to face him as the messenger sidled up to him. "We have received telegrams from the duchies of Schwarzenbek and Ratzeburg," the man said lowly. "Shall we depart, sir?"

He watched as the man scanned the dancing crowd.

_"Nein…nein,_ let me read them here."

Across the hall, the young monarch of Arendelle and her betrothéd were making their way through the final hours of the ball. They had mingled and danced and socialized until long after dark, until Elsa had covertly transformed her heels into flats and her mouth hurt from forced smiles. Her naturally introverted nature had grown exhausted about two hours into the ball, and by this point she just wanted to lock herself in a quiet room with a cup of tea, but thankfully her new fiancé was a social butterfly and handled the social graces while she stood close by, looking regal. Hans was just masterfully disengaging a rather dirty verbal sparring match with a young nobleman from the Eastern Mountains, who seemed unsubtly irritated that the disgraced prince had taken the very eligible queen off the market, when a buzzing caught their ears, and both turned.

Ripples were spreading through the conversation in the ballroom as the dancing began to stop. Hands and fans were shielding mouthed conversations, eyes casting meaningful glances—and as they watched, one by one the foreign aristocrats and Coronian citizens began to turn in one of three directions: to their monarchs, to the Chancellor—or towards them.

The tides of whispers closed around them like flowing water, and the two turned and looked around as the staring eyes formed a ring. Elsa was the first to recover, grabbing Hans by the elbow and tugging him towards the thrones. The crowd parted like the red sea—never a good sign. Looking around, she realized the need to know what she was reacting _to_ before electing a path of action, and turned to the nearest gawking diplomat.

"What exactly is going on?"

"I– uh–" He glanced towards the Chancellor and then back again. Elsa drew herself up into her full, ice-queen regality.

"I am her Majesty, the Queen of Arendelle, and you _will _give me an answer!"

"Th-they say," he gulped, glancing, to her surprise, at Hans, "that, um, the Germanic duchies of the Southern Isles have...asked to join the League, your Majesty."

There was, precisely, one heartbeat of silence. In that heartbeat, Elsa's gaze shot across the room, and she saw Rapunzel fighting her way towards her through the crowd.

She turned on her heels, and Hans, as if in one mind, turned with her.

The crowd seemed to be closing around them as they moved. "Let us through, excuse me, we need to get through–"

"Your Majesty! What do you intend to do?"

"Is it true, your Highness? Will the Southern Isles go to war?"

"Will Arendelle support the League?"

"No comment," Elsa said tersely, "Excuse me." She less-than-politely shoved a minor Coronian noble aside with her shoulder, trying to quell the rising panic in her chest. She didn't like being the center of attention at the best of times, let alone among foreign nationals who were watching her like hungry hawks. She could feel frost threatening to crystalize out of her veins into the air, despite the gloves.

"Anna's on the other side of the room, near the doors," Hans hissed as they pushed their way to the increasingly agitated crowd. The press of bodies seemed to be closing ranks, straining to get near the throne dais. "Elsa, you need to do something!"

She grimaced, glancing left and right, and then let out a sharp sigh and tore off her gloves. With a snap of her fingers, a thin coat of ice spread across the floor on either side of their immediate path.

A series of _"woh-ohs!"_ ricocheted behind them as they rushed forward past the slipping guests. Sparks flashed in the air as they broke through the crowd. Anna and Kristoff met them, looking frantic. "Elsa, what's–"

"Come _on!"_ Elsa grabbed her sister's hand and dragged her out of the ballroom into the hallway, walking quickly and throwing glances over her shoulder.

"Wh– Elsa! Where are we–"

"Home. Arendelle."

"We can't leave without saying goodbye!"

"We can't risk it," Hans countered.

"Is it true?" Kristoff demanded. "Are the Southern Isles at war with the Northern League?"

"I–" The prince shook his head. Sparks and soot were following behind him, leaving a scorched trail back the way they'd come, and Elsa stopped and turned.

"Hans, breathe. You need to calm down."

"I'm fine." He looked pale. "I don't know," he answered the crown prince. "Maybe. Probably."

"But why are _we_ leaving?" Anna demanded.

"Because Corona just became the only nation in the League with a standing navy of any importance in the Northern Sea," Hans replied grimly. "And Arendelle has alliances both here _and_ with the Southern Isles."

"Wh–" Anna looked between them. "What do we _do?"_

"Get off Coronian territory. Now, as soon as we can. Any decision we make here will be seen as suspect." Elsa looked around wildly. "Which way were the doors?"

"This way." Anna took the lead, gathering up her skirts in her hands and hurrying through the halls.

They reached the entrance hall of the castle ten minutes later, and to Elsa's deep relief, they were the first there. The guardsmen at the front gave them startled looks; word apparently had not reached this part of the castle yet of the international situation going down in the ballroom. Anna smoothed her hair and strode up purposefully to the nearest footmen.

"Have our carriage called, please," she said regally, in a fairly good imitation of her elder sister. "Her Majesty the Queen wishes to return to her ship."

"Yes, princess."

"Anna! Elsa!"

They turned. Rapunzel had appeared at the end of the entrance hall, Eugene with her. They looked out of breath.

"We thought– we wanted to talk to you, before you–"

"Arendelle will not be making a decision at this time," Elsa cut her off. She hadn't meant to be so curt, but she was also painfully aware that one wrong word could turn the farewell from a personal matter into a political one.

"Anna. Please." Rapunzel approached and clasped Anna's hand. "You're our oldest allies. If Corona goes to war, we will need Arendelle's help."

Anna hesitated, looking between her cousin's pleading eyes and her sister, who was standing, straight-backed and tight-mouthed, behind her. Elsa gave her a small shake of her head.

"...I'll talk to Elsa," the princess promised at last. "I'll do what I can."

Rapunzel let out a sigh of relief and hugged her tightly. "Thank you."

The doors were opened as the carriage arrived, and a full blast of cold sea air struck the young queen in the face. She turned to see her cousin watching her. "We're sorry." The words tumbled out of her mouth. "You know we can't stay. Congratulations on the christening. Your son is darling."

"Thank you…"

The four clambered into the carriage. "I'll write soon," Anna reassured her. "Goodbye! Give our love to your parents!"

Rapunzel waved at them through the window until their carriage rounded the corner, the _clip-clop_ of the horse's hooves loud as thunder in the young queen's ears. She sank back into the cushions, feeling shaken. Now out of the castle, the frost was free to escape, and skittered across the carriage's walls and ceiling. "You shouldn't have promised her that," she told Anna angrily.

"What was I supposed to do? You made me ambassador, Elsa; it's my job to help our relationship with Corona! I couldn't just leave without giving them any reassurance!"

"Let's discuss this on the ship," Kristoff interjected. Elsa bit her tongue and turned to her betrothéd, who was staring out the window of the carriage, watching the shops and houses of Corona roll by.

"Hans? Are you alright?"

"Mm. Fine."

He wasn't fine, she could see it in his eyes; they were distant, cold and calculating—a sure sign that he was as anxious as she was. As she watched him, her eyes caught sight of motion, and her gaze flickered downwards.

It was his thumb, still gloved in white, running back and forth over the embossed title of the book he'd received—almost obsessively, as if the book of fairytales were a talisman against the crushing weight of the real world beyond the carriage doors.

* * *

**A/N: Hi everyone! So, long story short, I've decided to write up a sequel to Pierced Hearts. This one will be significantly shorter—eleven chapters exactly—and whereas the last story was theological, so to speak, this one will be far more political. Updates will be slow in coming, but should be fairly long if this chapter is any indication.**

**I would like to thank my boyfriend, Arthur, for the inspiration for this story and for his help in writing it; he's far more knowledgeable about nineteenth-century European history than I am. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, and I'll see you all soon! _Pax et Bonum!_ –FFcrazy15**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

**A/N: Thank you to all my lovely reviewers! Jacob Flores: oh I've been referencing the Extra History's series on Bismarck heavily, lol. I'm glad to see someone got the reference!**

* * *

The ship groaned around them like the belly of a beast as Hans moved about the cabin lighting the lanterns, the floor tilting slowly from side to side. Elsa closed the porthole, cutting off the chill draft of salty air. "How fast are we going?"

Her betrothéd touched a gentle finger to the wick of the last lantern and shut the glass trap. "On a guess? Twenty knots. Keep the wind at that speed and we should reach Arendelle proper in less than a day."

Elsa nodded, pursing her lips. That meant a sleepless night, to keep control over the stiff winter wind filling their sails out of season, but wars moved quickly in the new era. The sooner they were back on their own soil, the better.

"What if someone follows us?" Anna asked from beside the door, wringing her hands. The Southern prince glanced at her and noted, with a bitter irony, that the sisters were more alike than they realized sometimes.

"I don't think they will. But if they do, your sister and I will handle it."

There was a coolness in his tone that sent a shiver down the princess's shoulders, peering at him uncertainly. Anna had, arguably, known Hans the longest, and although Elsa had long passed her in knowing him best, Anna was the only one of the group who had experienced his occasional shifts from warmth to pure practicality turned against her. Seeing that thoroughly political expression on his face brought back ugly memories, and she didn't much like it.

Elsa sank wearily into the chair behind the desk as the floor swayed again. "I just don't understand how this could have happened so quickly. One hour we were all at the party, and the next..."

"Telegraphs," Hans replied. "I'd bet my last _krone_ there were spies from Schwarzenbeck and Ratzeburg at the christening. As soon as they'd heard von Eisen had flipped Corona, they would have sent word back to the minor nobility. With the Teutonian land army and now Corona's navy to back them up, revolution was almost guaranteed."

"But _why?"_ Anna asked, sitting down on the chair next to the desk, opposite Elsa's. "I mean, they aren't trying to get independence, are they? So what makes the League so much better than the Isles that they're willing to risk going to war?"

"It's...complicated."

"So uncomplicate it."

Hans chewed his tongue and then sighed. Anna watched as he paced to a cupboard along the wall and retrieved a map and what looked like a small tortoise-shell box. "Alright," he said. "Here's, to my best guess, what just happened."

He spread the map of the Southern Isles across the desk and opened the box. Anna peered within to see marble chess pieces in dark green and veined red.

"Several centuries ago, the Southern Isles conquered two duchies to the south." He put two red knights on two provinces on the southernmost end of the peninsula that formed the majority of the Isles' territory. "But the people who were already living there were Germanic. They spoke Germanic. Their rulers were Germanic nobles. They had Germanic customs." He put two green pawns down next to the red knights. "And they _still do. _Those customs, the language, the old families—they still exist, you understand?"

"So that's why they're trying to join the League."

"It's one reason." Hans put the red king and a few red pawns further north on the map, around the crown city of Hagenkopen. "Three years ago, my brother's whole council was arrested in Arendelle." He swept the red pawns off the map, except for one, which he held up. "Myself included." He set the red pawn down off the borders of the map and continued: "Which meant he had to make a _new_ council to help him rule the kingdom. Per your advice, Queen Elsa, this council was going to be a two-house parliament, one of old aristocratic families and the royal princes when they returned, and one of representatives elected from the people. This, of course, would drag the Isles, kicking and screaming, into the modern era."

"Which some people weren't going to like," Anna realized.

"Mm. Three guesses as to who." He lifted up one of the red knights, examining it as he spoke. "Now here's the tricky part: technically speaking, Schwarzenbeck and Ratzeburg were never fully incorporated into the Isles. They were more like…colonies, I suppose, even though they were inside our borders. The Southern dukes sent by the king ruled over them and were pretty much allowed to do what they liked—raise taxes, seize lands, forced labor, the crown didn't care so long as we got our cut of the profits. It's been that way for centuries, but of course, a parliament where the Germanic citizens were represented by elected officials would change all that."

He moved the red knights and the green pawns to either side of Hagenkopen. "So the duchies' Southern dukes kindly reminded Agnar that since Schwarzenbeck and Ratzeburg are not _properly_ part of the Isles, they don't need to have representatives in the parliament."

"But then wouldn't the dukes lose their votes, too? They'd give up their own power."

"Ah." Hans gave her a bitter smile. "But the dukes still have old claims to other, smaller fiefdoms in the Isles. So they still get their vote, and the common people get none." He took the green pawns off the board, leaving the red side looking alone and imbalanced. "So the Germanic citizens of the duchies face a choice: continue to live in the Isles, where they're given no respect or representation, their culture looked down upon and regularly suppressed, subject to what to many of them appears a foreign rule…"

"Or appeal to the League to take them, where they would be accepted as long-lost brothers and equals," Kristoff finished. Hans glanced up at him and nodded.

"But– that's ridiculous!" Anna exclaimed. "Can't King Agnar just incorporate the colonies anyway? Tell the dukes to—I don't know, go boil their heads?!"

"It's not that he doesn't _want_ to, Anna, it's that he _can't. _The old noble households are powerful, and they're already furious that they're going to have to share power with the common people; if my brother pushes for the _colonies_ to be fully incorporated, that might just start a coup. And my brothers, as you'll recall, are returning home in two years." He picked up the red pawns he'd swept away earlier and put them around the red king. "Get rid of Agnar, put one of my brothers on the throne, and everything goes back to the way it was before."

"Can't Elsa just keep your brothers in Arendelle?" Anna posited.

"I could," the queen said wearily, "but it would probably start a war with the Southern Isles, and possibly any number of major European powers. I made a promise in a court of law to return the princes to the Southern Isles after five years so long as they demonstrated good behavior. I suppose they've behaved exemplarily, Kristoff?"

"Like their lives depend on it," he affirmed grimly.

"Then holding them in Arendelle would be seen by all of Europe as taking foreign nobility hostage. Even if I could hold off an invasion from several powerful nations, it would destroy Arendelle's credibility indefinitely."

There was a long silence. Then Anna spoke up again.

"So...what happens now?"

Hans shrugged. "Now, my brother makes a choice. Lose the duchies either with or without a war."

"Well—then it's obvious, isn't it? Avoid the war."

"No. If he caves to von Eisen's demands, lets the League just _take _our land, then he will look like a weak king who lets foreign nations dictate our national policy. Which–"

"–Could lead to a coup," Anna and Elsa said in unison, the younger adding in a grumble: "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"If I know my brother, he's going to fight a war he can't win and lose public favor. Either way, he loses some clout that he _desperately_ needs right now." He looked to the queen. "Which means he's going to ask you to come to his aid with your navy. It's his only chance of beating von Eisen's forces and holding onto the duchies."

Elsa nodded with a frown, eyes distant. Hans paced away from the desk, peering out the porthole at black sea waves lapping against the boat in the night. _"Damn_ them," he muttered under his breath, curling his hand into a fist. "Just when things were changing in the Isles, they had to go and pull this trick."

"You can't blame the duchies." He looked back at Kristoff, who was still standing near the wall in his woolen blue-and-scarlet _gákti _and toe-turned boots. "You said yourself this is the best option for them."

"They've put the whole of Europe at risk of war!" Hans exclaimed, which was overstating it a bit in Elsa's opinion, but she was distracted from pointing this out as the candles guttered fiercely as if in a strong wind. "I agree they have cause for grievance, but revolution is not the way to solve it! If they had just been patient, my brother could have–"

"Patient? After three hundred years? From what you described, what they've been through under the Southern dukes is more than just a 'grievance.' I'm not surprised their patience has run out."

Hans flushed. "I may have overstated the abuses–"

"Nah, I don't think you did. Besides, how are they supposed to trust your brother to do the right thing? Your family doesn't exactly have the world's greatest reputation, Hans. And those people were Germanic long before they were Southern."

"And what then?" the prince retorted. "They might speak Germanic, but they are _Southern_ citizens! If duchies are allowed to decide willy-nilly that they want independence, what if _other_ territories start to get the same idea? Maybe _Arendelle's _territories?"

Kristoff faltered, and Elsa turned to him, searching his face. After a moment he found his voice again.

"I won't deny independence is on some of their minds." Hans scoffed. "But the northern tribes know without Arendelle they'd be vulnerable to other kingdoms—the Eastern Mountains, Fendoland, even Ruthinia. Arendelle and Elsa have been good to them; they're not going to take a risky bet over a sure one."

"Damn the Colonies Across the Sea," Hans cursed, pacing away. "They've got their independence, well, good for them, but they're causing trouble for the rest of us."

"I don't blame the Unified Colonies." He looked over; it was Elsa who had spoken. "Times are changing. You know I've always favored a _politeia _system…"

Hans sighed. "And theoretically, so do I. _Theoretically. _But the word doesn't work in _theoreticals. _Monarchy, _strong_ monarchy, has always been the preferred and stable form of government."

"Perhaps. But the world is beginning to work more on ideals, Hans. The day may well be coming when monarchies become irrelevant." She studied the map, and its scattered pieces, with pensive blue eyes. "My father always told me that a king or queen is put on earth to serve and protect their people. We exist for the sake of our kingdoms, not the other way around. And if these duchies believe they are better off with the League, perhaps it's because they genuinely _are."_

"The League is not exactly the Athenian ideal, Elsa."

"No. But empire-building aside, we have no personal fight with the League. It may be best for Arendelle to stay out of this fight."

"Whoa, whoa, wait," Anna interjected. "Aren't we forgetting somebody here?" Elsa turned. "You all keep talking about 'the League' like it's this monolith, but it's not!" She grabbed the green queen out of the box and set it down, hard, on the chunk of Coronian coastline visible on the map. _"Corona_ is the one going to war, not—I don't know, Schlesia, or something."

"What are you suggesting?" Hans said sharply.

"I think it's pretty obvious what I'm suggesting. Corona is our _oldest ally, _Elsa." The queen felt her stomach twist in guilt, remembering the sultana's praise for Arendelle's famed loyalty. "And now they're our _family,_ too. Our mother _was_ Coronian; the whole point of her marrying Papa was to strengthen that alliance! We can't just abandon them now!"

"I can't help the League fight against my own country!" Hans exclaimed.

"Fine! You don't have to, Hans, you're not Arendellian!"

"I'm _going_ to be!"

"What will the Eastern Mountains decide to do?" Kristoff asked Elsa.

"Officially, they're likely to remain neutral, but if it comes to it they'll almost certainly stand with the Chancellor. They know they don't want to make an enemy of the League."

"So what then, is the whole of Scandinavia going to leave the Isles friendless?" Hans demanded. "The League is invading sovereign territory!"

"The duchies _want_ to leave!"

"That's not the point, Anna! The Isles are already unstable right now; if they leave, my brother loses standing in the eyes of the aristocracy! He could face a coup at any moment!"

"If the Eastern Mountains are too scared to stand up to the Chancellor, why aren't they scared he's going to invade them, too?" Kristoff pointed out.

"They are," said Elsa grimly. "They've been building up their army for several years now, just like we have. But thankfully, it seems the Chancellor's only aim thus far is to make allies and unify the Germanic feudal kingdoms."

"Then are_ we_ scared of an invasion?"

"No, the Chancellor knows better than to come after Arendelle."

"What do you mean?"

Silence fell over the room as Hans and Elsa looked to each other. Elsa sucked in a soft breath, and the prince let out a low groan and sank into a chair, covering his face with his hand as if suddenly stricken with a migraine.

"...What?" Anna demanded. "What just happened?"

Elsa stared down at her gloved hands, folded neatly on the desk, the elbow-length satin gloves ornamented with glistening minute frost crystals in artistic detail. Hans's still-gloved right hand held the silk sheath for the other while his bare fingers pinched the bridge of his nose.

_"What_ is going on?" Anna demanded again. Hans lowered his hand.

"This. _This_ is what just happened. " He snapped his fingers, causing a little flame to appear over his thumb and forefinger. With a wave, it vanished. "You saw what Elsa could do four years ago in a state of panic."

"And that was snow," the queen murmured. "Fire…"

"Could end a war in one stroke. Could _be_ a war in one stroke. Towns, villages, whole battlefields—gone." His voice had grown weaker as he spoke. "In the right circumstances, your sister and I are one-man armies or worse. Either one of us could bring a small kingdom to its knees."

Silence fell again. Anna looked between them, nervous. "So...what are the two of you going to do?"

_"We_ are not going to do anything." Hans looked weary. "Your sister and I are not married. And like you said, Anna...I am not Arendellian."

"Hans…"

"I don't know what I'm going to do, yet. And I'm certain my elder brother will be wanting to know the same thing."

"I once saw the two of you fight when you were in a temper," Kristoff spoke up, drawing their attention. "And honestly, it scared the daylights out of me. I don't want to see what would happen if you were on opposite sides of a war."

"That wouldn't happen, would it?" Anna asked.

"It could," said Elsa heavily.

The gentle creak of the timbers against the waves filled the cabin. At last, Elsa sighed. "It's late. You all need rest."

"Elsa–"

"I'll call the council to order when we arrive home tomorrow. I can't make a decision without their approval, anyway." She waved her hand, and her elegant ballroom gown transformed back into a far more conservative dress and jacket. "I'll stay here and keep the winds blowing north."

Her sister bit her lip, and then sighed. "Fine. But you'd better take a nap when we get back to Arendelle."

"I'm not the one with child, Anna." The elder sister gave her a small smile. "I'll be fine. The important thing is getting home as soon as we can."

Anna reluctantly gave her sister a hug and headed for the door. Hans kissed her hand, looking lost in grim thoughts, and did the same. As they were leaving, Elsa called: "Kristoff? A word, if you please?"

The crown prince hung back as the door to the cabin closed. Elsa nodded to the chair. "You can sit if you like."

He did, resting his palms on his knees and watching the queen warily. "Something I can help you with?"

"You're the only neutral party among us," the queen said frankly. "I want your opinion on the matter."

"I'm not sure you'll like what I have to say."

"That's exactly why I want to hear it."

Kristoff bit his tongue, thinking, and then met her eyes.

"I think whenever one group of people goes around taking things away from another group and putting themselves in charge—even if they think they know better, are smarter or more advanced than the other—it creates problems that there aren't easy answers to. And the longer you let those problems fester, the more impossible they become to solve."

"I see."

"And, Elsa?"

"Yes?"

"I think you should be _damned_ careful how you handle this."

* * *

The ship reached the Arendelle harbor late the next night. Elsa, who had been awake for nearly thirty-six hours by that point, staggered up to her room and fell asleep for the next twelve hours. Hans, on the other hand, had difficulty sleeping at all; he lay awake for hours staring at the ceiling of his guest room until eventually he drifted off into an uneasy doze, and woke some five hours later as the sky was turning pink outside his window.

He wandered around the castle restlessly until afternoon. Usually filled with activity of some sort, the hallways of the palace seemed eerily quiet and stifling, with only the occasional servant passing by with a curtsy or bow, and he began to appreciate just how lonely Anna must have felt growing up here. Even the library, with its hundreds of books, could not distract him for more than a few minutes at a time.

Eventually he could take the silence and the waiting no longer. At around one in the afternoon he went to the garden, which was cool and clean, with the vanished morning dew still present as a heavy mist in the air. The smell of plants and flowers and the faint undertones of rot were a welcome balm to his troubled mind, and he sat down on a bench and took off his gloves. He'd slept with them on, to his shame, and had worn them all day as well; after the incident some three years previously, where he'd woken up from a nightmare to find his guest room engulfed in flames, he'd written to Agnar in confusion and had found out that the only reason he hadn't done likewise throughout his years of unwittingly possessing magic was due to the enchanted pairs of gloves his father had forced him to wear. The Snow Queen's magic, far more powerful than his, had held his powers at bay for hours even after taking off the gloves to sleep; now, without that protection, he wore them constantly in times of stress.

_Elsa warned you against that. _The quiet scolding from the back of his mind sounded loud in the afternoon silence. _The gloves are merely aids, not a substitute for real control._

He raised his palm and watched with curiosity as the sparks rose and fell. _She said to channel it, _he thought, _but that doesn't seem to be the problem._ Whenever he was _using_ the magic, his control was nearly perfect; it was when he had no outlet for it that he felt them begin to build up and seep out in unexpected, and dangerous, ways. _The trouble is, of course, that most of the time burning things down is not an appropriate venue of action, _he thought ruefully. _How does she do it? She talks about love and using magic responsibly, but how does she control it so easily?_

He sent a tongue of flame skipping around the cobblestone pathway in front of him, weaving around stones and charring moss, and then zipping back again into his hand. He watched it with a tilted head and narrowed eyes.

Of course, she hadn't always had such control. He remembered vividly, as did every citizen of Arendelle and a handful of foreign dignitaries, the sheer and awesome might Elsa could unleash with mere force of will, or loss of control. The power to freeze hearts, to kill at will was _piddling _compared to her true power: to freeze fjords, destroy crops, isolate and _starve_ a kingdom in the space of weeks. The Queen of Arendelle was the single most dangerous siege weapon on earth.

He had wondered, on occasion, what it would be like if he ever lost control in the same way. Hans hadn't liked thinking about that for too long. Those kinds of thoughts usually sent him meandering down to the water. Now, for the first time, he gave it due consideration. His imaginings were not pleasant ones: the destruction of Pompeii came to mind, or the seventh plague of Exodus. Unlike an unseasonal and unrelenting winter, which would be a kingdom's slow death, destruction at his hands would be swift, brutal, and irreversible.

"You're getting the hang of that."

He started badly and looked up. Kristoff had been watching the fire in his hands, apparently for some time, from beside a blossoming pear tree. Hans snuffed out the flame as he tugged the gloves back on. "Anna sent you to watch me." It wasn't a question. Kristoff shrugged. "You people could stand to have a little more faith in me…"

"Don't take it personally. She would want someone keeping an eye on anyone in your situation."

"So why didn't she come spy on me herself?" Hans asked, rather sourly if truth be told. Kristoff walked over smacked him upside the head.

_"Ow!"_ Hans sputtered and rubbed the back of his head; it hadn't actually _hurt, _but his pride was bruised enough to make him glare at the crown prince. "What the _hell_ was that for?!"

"Stop being petty, it's not a good look on you."

The quote did the trick, and Hans grumbled a moment before relenting. "...Fine. You're right. I just don't appreciate being treated as a criminal after I've already done my penance."

"Anna isn't trying to treat you like a criminal. You're on two different sides of a serious issue; she thinks it's best if you stay apart for now, at least until Elsa wakes up." Kristoff peered at him curiously. "Honestly, I'm surprised. I didn't think you had any love for the Southern Isles."

"For the home of my childhood? I don't. For my _homeland, _it's a different story." His expression grew more distant. "If Agnar decides to go to war…I can't just abandon our people the way my family has for generations."

Kristoff nodded. "Elsa's right," he said thoughtfully. "You'd make a good king."

Hans flashed a smirk, and then looked down at his gloved hands as it faded.

"One hopes."

They both looked over at the sound of quick footsteps, and saw Anna round the corner. Hans stood. "Anna."

The princess had donned a cream dress and jacket, and had done her hair up into a bun—in preparation for the council meeting, no doubt. "A letter just arrived for you." She fished it out of her pocket and handed it over. "It's from the Southern Isles."

Hans accepted and saw that the seal was unbroken. "You haven't opened it."

"We're not tyrants."

He broke the seal and read the letter. It was brief, and contained no surprises. "It's from my brother," he said, closing the envelope again. "He's ordering me to return home on the next ship."

"Are you going to go?" Anna asked.

"It's a direct order from my king. I don't have much of a choice."

The princess bit her lip and looked ready to contradict him, when the voice of Kai called from the garden door:

"Your Highnesses? The Queen has awoken. The council will commence in an hour."

* * *

The nobles and ministers of the Queen's council, all called abruptly to the city to handle the emergency, had filled the hall outside the council chamber, still dressed in their traveling clothes. As the trio arrived, Master Folkestad, the queen's minister of trade, swiftly monopolized Kristoff in conversation, and the ever-elegant Lady Evjen, whom Hans had never seen with her hair down before, began to interrogate Anna in a hushed voice. Hans ignored them all (which they returned in kind, carefully avoiding engaging the Southern prince) and scanned the crowd for Elsa. She did not yet seem to be present.

"Your Majesty–"

"Your Majesty!"

At the stir of voices, he turned to see the queen hurrying along the hallway, looking rushed but determined, her cheeks flushed pink with fervor and blue eyes glinting sharply.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting, ministers, lords and ladies. The council will commence shortly. Please, take your seats."

The doors were opened, and the ministers and nobles began to file inside, Anna and Kristoff following. Hans made to join them, before a hand stopped him, and he turned.

"I'm sorry, Hans, but I can't allow you inside."

The queen looked embarrassed but unrelenting. For a moment, the prince was dumbstruck. He had become so accustomed to being included in the council meetings as a valued guest over the past few months that he'd forgotten it was a privilege, not his right.

He rallied. "Surely her Majesty wishes to hear the views of those on all sides of the matter before making a decision?"

"She does."

"Anna, I presume, will be advocating for Corana."

"I believe so, yes."

"Does the Southern Isles not deserve an advocate?"

"They have one," Elsa said firmly. "Master Fredriksen, our ambassador to your brother's court." Hans opened his mouth. "You are the betrothéd of the queen, Hans, not our point of relations with the Southern Isles. I, respectfully, request that you remain out here."

He could see in her eyes that the "request" could be abided by or become an order. He stepped back, grudgingly.

"As her Majesty wishes."

The formality stuck like a barb, just as he'd intended, and Elsa took a deep breath.

"We will speak to you afterwards, in the library. Don't expect us before dinner."

She vanished inside, and the door closed behind her. Hans glared at it for a long moment, sighed, and ran his hand through his hair. To the library it was, then.

* * *

The sun had long since fallen and the moon risen silver over the mountains to the east before the royal family returned. Hans, who had been flipping restlessly through a naval strategy book by the light of a dim candle, stood as the doors opened and Anna, Kristoff and Elsa entered the library. "What's happened?" he demanded. "What did the council decide?"

"Nothing, yet," Elsa said wearily. "The power to declare war lies with the queen, but the council must approve it. They're prepared to back me fully in whatever decision I make."

"And what decision do you intend to make?" the prince asked sharply. The queen looked up, blue eyes meeting green. The feeling of being pinned like a moth by those two cerulean orbs, so familiar after three years, returned, and he knew she was trying to discern whether he was acting as her fiancé or as a prince of the Southern Isles.

"I have not decided. But as of now, Arendelle is considering either supporting Corona or remaining neutral."

A beat of silence. The air escaped his lung in a soft, unheard breath.

"So. You are not considering supporting the Southern Isles."

"We are not."

"My I inquire as to the Queen's reasoning?"

"Neutrality is currently viewed as the best option; Arendelle does not have a stake in the crisis–"

"I'm not asking for your reasons for _neutrality, _Elsa!"

"Corona are our allies."

"So are the Southern Isles!"

"Who have attempted coups on Arendelle _three times_ in the last quarter of a century!"

That stung. Hans took a step back as Anna and Kristoff looked between them nervously. Elsa pinked but met his gaze.

"That was low."

"It was relevant," she said, despite the tightness in her chest.

"You know full well I was acting of my own volition; my family and kingdom had nothing to do with it–"

"Corona has been our ally for centuries." Elsa's voice had turned steely. "When your father attempted to invade our kingdom, they came to our assistance. Our treaties with the Southern Isles are not even half a century old and were established as an act of _benevolence_ upon the part of Arendelle. We owe Corona at the very _least_ our refusal to make war against them."

Her argument was ironclad. In her position, he knew, Hans would have made the same decision. He sat down on the sofa. "And me?" he asked curtly.

"And you, what?"

"Are you going to hold me hostage?" He glanced up at her. "You and I both know Corona's navy doesn't stand a chance if I side with the Southern Isles."

"You are a foreign national who has served the completion of his sentence here. Arendelle can no more lawfully hold you here than we could the ambassador of Francia."

"I am engaged to the Queen."

"Your rights did not terminate upon your betrothal."

"I am a knight of Arendelle."

"But a citizen of the Southern Isles, who has been ordered by his king to return." Her lips were tight, but he thought he saw them tremble. "I have no right to hold you here. As you know, Arendelle believes–"

"–In the sovereignty of nations. I know."

There was a beat of silence. Then he relented. "Thank you," Hans said quietly. "You could have done a great deal worse in your position."

"Not legally. Not morally."

He gave her a tired smile, and looked at Kristoff and Anna, who had not spoken a single word since entering the library. "Anna, Kristoff...I beg your pardon, but could Elsa and I speak alone?"

He saw Anna bite her lip, and wondered if she, like himself, had worked out what had to happen next. "We'll give you two some space," she promised, tugging on her husband's arm. "Come on, Kristoff."

They left. Hans watched them go, Anna particularly, until the doors had closed. He had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach—the feeling he always got when he knew that what he was about to do would be written down someday in a history book.

As the doors to the library clicked shut, Elsa turned away from him, her face hidden from view. She wandered down one of the shadowed rows to the nearest window, skirts rustling softly as they slid against the carpet, and he thought he heard a shuddering breath. A moment later she raised a hand to dry her eyes. He stood.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Her voice was quiet, but seemed to fill the silent library. "You have every right to be upset with me."

"I spoke sharply and out of anger. I apologize."

She waved a hand, deep in thought. "We both did. It's forgiven."

He approached her side, watching her as she watched her kingdom beyond the glass—the little lights burning in the windows and the lamp posts, the people passing from door to door. It was a habit of hers, he'd learned, watching the world from a window. He supposed it was something she'd learned in childhood.

She didn't speak, and he took the moment to study her. The skirt and jacket she wore were pale blue, almost gray, and thoroughly formal and mundane except for the fact that they were made of ice. Her pale hair was pulled up into a bun at the back of her head, which he'd been told was not altogether comfortable and which she liked to unpin at the end of the day. Long gone were the slit-legged glittery dresses of the Elsa who had run away up the mountain all those years ago; long gone, too, the fresh-faced naïvety that had rivaled even Anna's and the fear of the outside world.

She'd grown up, Hans appreciated ruefully. Really, they both had. For as warm as her heart could be, the woman in front of him had cold iron in her veins. _Good, _he thought. _She's going to need it._

"There's a ship leaving tomorrow," he said at last. "Headed for Hagenkopen. I intend to be on it."

Elsa nodded as if she'd been expecting this. She wiped her eyes again. _She knows, _he thought desperately. _She knows what we have to do._

"I love you." The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. The queen gave a watery little laugh.

"I know."

"What will you do," he asked, "if I decide to side with the Isles?"

Elsa sighed. "...I don't know." She wrung her hands. "On the one hand, it would leave the League—especially Corona—at a major disadvantage, a disadvantage only I could fill."

"On the other…"

"On the other, I'm _dangerous,_ Hans. You know how wars escalate; when the heat of battle has gone to their heads, can I trust that they won't ask me to do something terrible? Freeze over a country, destroy innocent lives or hold them hostage?"

"And unmentioned in all of this, of course," he said with irony, "is the very _personal _matter of facing one another in what would almost certainly become a death match." Elsa nodded, and he gave a mirthless half-chuckle. "And to think that two months ago, I was deliriously happy."

She turned to him with tears brimming bright in her eyes, and he realized his own throat was tight. He pulled her into his arms, felt the fit of her slight frame against his. The queen became a young woman again and buried her face in his chest.

"Run away with me somewhere," she murmured, twisting her hands into the fabric of his shirt. He gave another rueful chuckle. "Somewhere we don't have to deal with any of this…"

"You and I both know we can't."

She raised her face to look at him again, blue eyes shining in the moonlight.

"What if the next time we see each other, we're enemies?"

He couldn't answer that. So instead, he brushed the loose strands of pale hair out of her face, and kissed her.

What started out as a gentle, chaste kiss grew soon passionate and desperate, as if each were trying to make up for decades of lost time in advance. His hand buried itself in her pale hair; her back hit the bookshelves as she pulled him fast against her…

With a gasp they broke apart, and the queen flung her arms around his shoulders. The prince embraced her tightly in return. They held each other for a long, silent, perfect moment. Then she drew away. He saw that her face had become the very portrait of strength and resolve, her expression remaining unchanged even as she touched his cheek and brushed away his own tears.

"Go," she said quietly. "Your ship leaves early tomorrow morning."

He nodded. "I love you," he said again.

"And I love you." She took a deep breath and slipped the ring off her finger, handing it over. He accepted it.

"Goodbye...Queen Elsa."

"Goodbye, Prince Hans. I wish you safe travels home."

He gave a single, short nod, turned on his heels, and left. She stayed among the bookcases for a long time, watching blindly as the moonbeam moved across the spines.

After a long while, she realized, idly, that they had been in the fairytale section.

* * *

The sky over the fjord was a clean, pale spring blue, in sharp contrast to the deep blue waters below. Further south, it would have been too hot for the heavy woolen overcoat and light scarf he'd donned for the journey, but in Arendelle the spring winds were still brisk and cold. As the crew of the _Havskærer_ lowered the gangplank, he picked up his suitcase and turned.

The royal family had come to see him off, the air filled with uncertainty and bittersweetness. "I hope to return as soon as I'm able," he told them. They, and he, knew that the words had been carefully crafted. "Possibly within a week or two–"

His painstakingly-planned speech was thoroughly upended as Anna broke forward and threw her arms around him so fiercely that her baby bump nearly knocked him backwards. "Come home soon," she insisted as she drew back, and for a moment he wondered if Anna were not aware that things had changed—but no, he realized, Elsa was not wearing her gloves. The absence of the ring was obvious. Touched by the gesture, he gave the princess a grateful smile.

Kristoff shook his hand, and then Hans turned to the queen. Her back was ramrod straight, her face tight. Hans took her hand and, before he could second-guess himself, pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

"It has been my honor and my pleasure to serve you, your Majesty."

"The honor and the pleasure has been entirely mine."

There came the high-pitched note of a whistle from the deck of the ship, and regretfully, he dropped her hand and stepped back. "Farewell. I wish you all the best."

They waved him off as the boat set sail. When it was far enough away that the ship had begun to look like a toy, the queen sighed and turned to leave. As she did so, however, a voice called to her from across the docks. "Your Majesty! Queen Elsa!"

She and the pair turned as a man in an embroidered suit in dark blue hurried up to them. "Begging your pardon, but you are Queen Elsa of Arendelle, aren't you?"

"I am. Who, if I might ask, are you?"

"A messenger, your Majesty. I've been sent ahead of my lord the Duke to request his permission to formally enter Arendelle's waters."

"The Duke? Which duke?"

The man passed across a letter, and Elsa's face fell as she saw the seal.

"His Lordship the Duke of Weselton, acting on behalf of His Royal Majesty the Kaiser and the Chancellor of the Northern League, hereby requests formal permission to dock in this harbor in three day's time to issue an invitation to her Majesty to visit Cölln-Bärlin."

_"Weselton?"_ Anna demanded, but was silenced with a glance from her sister.

"...I see." Her heart was pounding; she looked towards the sea, where she could still see the _Havskærer's_ sails on the horizon. This was all happening so quickly. "Her Majesty will permit the ship to dock in the harbor, but she makes no promises at this time to respond favorably to the Kaiser's invitation."

The messenger bowed. "My thanks, your Majesty." He left, and Anna huffed.

_"Weselton?"_ she repeated angrily. "Are they _trying _to insult us?"

"Weselton…" Elsa trailed off, thinking. She had known, of course, that the Duchy of Weseldorf had been a member of the Northern League back at the time of her coronation, but at that time the League had been a distant and shadowy concern, compared to the stark terror of revealing her powers. Now, she wondered—too late—if even then the Northern League had been curious about Arendelle. Why send the Duke now, instead of an ambassador from the much friendlier Corona?

_Because the Duke played a major part in the Great Freeze. He was a first-hand witness to what I can do._ Fear like a vice clenched around her heart. So. She and Hans hadn't been the only ones to realize the implications of magic in the upcoming war, then. They might not have even been the first.

"Elsa?"

"We'll hear what he has to say, Anna. And then…and then I'll think about going to Cölln-Bärlin." _To speak with the Chancellor. Alone. _The very idea was terrifying. She turned her eyes, one last time, to the fjord, and found that the white sails of the _Havskærer _had vanished over the edge of the horizon.

* * *

**A/N: And that's chapter two! Classes resume for me next week, so the next update will be a lot longer in coming, but I managed to get this one out first. Hope you enjoyed it; leave me a review to tell me what you thought, and **_**Pax et Bonum!**_** –FFcrazy15**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

* * *

There was a knock on the door before Anna peeked her head inside. "Gerda said you wanted to see me?"

Her sister was standing in front of the dressing-room mirror, pinning up her air, with the back of her dress still laying open. "Yes, I need your help with the dress."

Anna approached and began doing up the buttons. "No ice dress today, then." The queen shook her head. "Why didn't you ask Gerda to help?"

"Honestly? Because you calm me down."

Anna poked her tongue out as she fiddled a particularly finicky button into its loop. Outside the window she could see the docked ship flying its two flags: the tricolor banner of the Northern League, and a red flag bearing the image of a white horse—the flag of the Duchy of Weseldorf. "So. Weasel-town's arrived then, huh?"

"Yes. The meeting is set for noon."

"You're better person than I am. I would have made them _wait."_

Elsa flashed a smile in the mirror as Anna finished the last button and then shrugged on her jacket. She took a deep breath and pulled on the old teal gloves. "Hand me my crown?"

As Anna retrieved the tiara from the box, the queen studied herself in the mirror, butterflies filling her stomach. She was not looking forward to the meeting, and wondered if maybe that had been the Chancellor's aim in sending the same duke who had once tried to kill her. She also felt somewhat angry with herself; for diplomacy's sake she had elected to wear a mundane dress, without magical ornament, but she couldn't help but feel as if she were betraying herself by doing so—giving in to their ignorance and insult, proving she could be a good little _girl_ again.

"Here you go."

She looked over to see Anna holding out the tiara. It was the same she had lost on the mountain after her coronation, and subsequently been returned by the Snow Queen three years earlier. Ordinarily, she didn't mind wearing it. _Ordinarily,_ she didn't mind wearing wool clothes or pinning her hair up or even wearing gloves.

But with Weasel-town around, it felt _stifling. _Like she was back to being locked up in a room. Like she had an obligation to herself to _rebel._

"Hey."

She looked over. Anna was watching her steadily. "You don't owe it to them to play the game their way," the princes reminded her.

Elsa looked back at the mirror. She drew herself up at the spine, and let the expression of forced courtesy melt into one of cool and icy _anger._

_Yes. That's how a queen should look._

With one motion, she grabbed the crown, put it on, and then yanked off her gloves and held them out for her sister. Anna's face lit up with the glow of vengeful delight. "Take care of those for me, would you, Anna?"

"Oh-ho, your wish is my _command_, my queen."

The queen couldn't help but suppress a chuckle as she left the room, Anna balling up the gloves and pitching them into the washerwoman's basket behind her.

The Duke and his men were already waiting at her desk in the library when she arrived, and Elsa _strode_ into the room like she owned it, because she did. "Gentlemen," she said briskly as she approached the desk, and was pleased to see them rise on instinct in the presence of a monarch. "Welcome to Arendelle. Please, be seated."

They sat, and the queen noticed how the duke's eyes lingered on her bare hands. She waited a brief pause, and then said, "Is something the matter, your lordship?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was under the impression you had a message for me."

"Your Majesty," said the Duke obsequiously, his mustache ruffling, "I am here on behalf of His Majesty, Kaiser F–"

A stroke of inspiration struck her, and she interrupted, "I do beg your pardon, sir, just a minute. Kai?" The footman, who had been standing at the far end of the library near the doors, raised his head. "Do tell Princess Anna we're meeting in the library; she must have gone to the conference room."

If Kai found this instruction surprising, he hid it well. "Your Majesty." He bowed and left.

"The princess will be joining us?" the Duke asked.

"But of course. She is our ambassador to Corona, as I'm sure you know."

"Forgive me, your Majesty, but I was under the impression we would be meeting alone."

"You are forgiven."

Elsa gave him a polite smile. The duke's expression grew mildly annoyed.

The door opened. "Sorry, I thought we were in the conference room," Anna lied breezily, approaching the desk. She turned a cool look on the duke. "Weselton."

"Princess."

Elsa gestured for Anna to take a seat, which she did.

_"As _I was saying," said the Duke, straightening up to his full, and unimpressive, height in his chair, "I am here on behalf of His Majesty, Kaiser Friederich-Wilhelm V of Teutonia, Patron of the Northern League, to extend his invitation to travel to Cölln-Bärlin to discuss with himself and the Chancellor the matter of rising tensions with the Southern Isles."

"Rising tensions, you mean, between the Southern Isles and the Northern League," Elsa said calmly. "Arendelle, as I recall, is not an ally of Teutonia or the League—or, for that matter of Weselton."

"Oh, your Majesty, surely all that nonsense from four years ago is water under the bridge! Additionally, I don't suppose Arendelle would be willing to revisit negotiations for trade with Weselton? Heh heh?" He saw the flat look the sisters gave him. "No, well, perhaps another time," he mumbled, before rallying. "At any rate, you _are_ allies with Corona. Your dear cousin Rapunzel and her husband the Prince will be instrumental to any military effort the League might choose to take against the Isles."

"Eugene would be fighting in the war?" Anna interjected.

"Certainly, although with his particular set of talents he would be leading one of their cavalry regiments; I believe his father-in-law would command their navy."

"And yet the Kaiser saw fit to send you to deliver this invitation, rather than our cousins," the queen pointed out. "Why?"

"The Kaiser does as he sees fit," the Duke said with a shrug, and then added proudly: "And I am, of course, his most loyal servant! He knew I could deliver the message with the pomp and respectability due to the League!"

"Yeah, because you did such a good job last time," Anna said coolly.

"Last time was an exceptional circumstance," the Duke waffled indignantly. "You must admit we were all rather under a lot of stress, and besides, I was in _quite_ a lot of pain from my neck injury–"

"Please don't insult my intelligence, your lordship," Elsa cut in. "This isn't about Arendelle's navy or our land army, this is about me. You're here because you've seen what I can do and have been told to convince me to use it on behalf of the League. I am afraid to say that Arendelle is not at all interested in going to war on behalf of a foreign state, nor am I eager to use my powers without careful consideration."

"Well now, your Majesty, don't be hasty!" the Duke said, very hastily indeed. "Come to Cölln-Bärlin—consider it a holiday, if nothing else! You can experience our wonderful culture, and see the progress we've made in modernizing our land! And the Kaiser's daughter is most excited to meet you, I believe she's been making preparations to throw a party for you should you attend."

"As you'll remember, your lordship, I'm not much one for parties," the queen deflected elegantly.

"Well, a ladies' tea, then. You know they make the most _delicious _pastries in Cölln-Bärlin; as I recall, your sister is rather fond of sweets?" he added, glancing to Anna, and then to her baby-bump.

The princess flushed red. "Yeah," she said sharply, leaning forward. "Especially now that I'm eating for two."

The Duke's eyes widened. "Ah. My apologies, I hadn't realized..."

"Yeah, well, y'know what they say about _assumptions–"_

"You said Prince Eugene would be important to 'any military effort the League might choose to take against the Isles,'" Elsa interjected. "You speak as if the war is not yet certain."

"Well, who knows? Maybe the Isles will choose to cede us the duchies without a fight."

"And of course, the League couldn't possibly choose to leave the Southern Isles to handle their own internal matters."

The Duke bristled. "The League has received a summons to come to the assistance of our cultural brothers! We have a noble duty, dare I say a _divine _duty, to fly to their aid with all haste!"

"Like a chicken with the face of a monkey?" Anna asked innocently.

Elsa attempted to hide her laugh with a polite cough and looked to the Duke, intending to continue the conversation. There was a moment's pause. Then the Duke reached up, removed his spectacles, and folded them with fastidious care before setting them down on the desk.

"You know, your Highness, when people have decided a man is a fool, they generally stop listening to anything he might have to say." He tilted his head. "But, that does not mean the man they think a fool has stopped listening to _them."_

A few beats of silence passed as both processed this. Elsa's stomach had clenched painfully. "Please forgive the Princess's rudeness. She–"

"–believes that I am a bad dancer, a vain old man and an idiot. Yes, I know." He looked back up at the queen with a cool smile. "You know, your Majesty, the Duchy of Weseldorf was one of the first western states to unify under Teutonia's leadership. We have a lot of land, and a lot of men, which I knew could be useful to the Kaiser and his Chancellor. Oh, I faced some pushback at the time, but I saw the _future, _your Majesty. A unified Germanic state—_that_ was the way the world was going."

The queen's mouth had closed tight. She didn't dare glance at Anna, but was certain the princess's mouth was hanging open. They'd miscalculated, badly.

"When the Chancellor requested I attend your coronation as the Northern League's representative, it was supposed to be a routine matter. Of course, when you revealed yourself and the kingdom believed you to be a witch–"

"I am not a _witch," _Elsa began, but the Duke cut her off.

"So you say, but nevertheless you _acted_ like one, your Majesty. Now, admittedly, I might have gotten in a little over my head–"

"Your men tried to kill me."

"–But you, graciously, allowed us to return to Weseldorf," he continued. "And as stories spread across Europe, the Kaiser and the Chancellor were _most_ interested in the accounts of first-hand witnesses."

"They _tried_ to _kill _me!" she repeated angrily.

"An error of judgment made by panicking men in a dangerous situation," the Duke replied coolly. "They have since been dismissed from the Duchy's service. And of course, you have proven forgiving to the extreme as regards _others_ among your attempted assassins, your Majesty."

Elsa's face went red. She tried to find something to say and found her mind had gone blank.

"Of course, you cut off trade with Weseldorf," the Duke continued, examining his glove, "which, although disappointing, was no great loss, as you maintained trade with the Mecklebürg and Pomera." He smiled. "There are benefits to being a member of a confederation, your Majesty."

"Your men were testing me," she said, breathing hard. She knew she was showing her hand, but was too angry to care. "Kill me if they could, bring back information if they couldn't. See just how powerful I was by throwing a small army at me and watching what I could do with it."

"Such uncharitable accusations. Where would you get an idea like that, your Majesty?"

The duke was altogether too calm, too collected. He met her gaze without a shred of guilt, and Elsa's face had flushed with fury.

"Nevertheless, their actions _did_ have the happy coincidence of being able to bring information back to the Kaiser, yes. But we were not the only ones, your Majesty. There were, as I recall, ambassadors from Francia, Aragona and Dun Broch at the coronation? Not to mention Fendoland and the Eastern Mountains. And of course the Southern Isles was present. Frankly I was surprised that the Francians never sought to court you, but then I suppose the emperor was more concerned with having himself crowned around that time.

"There was quite a furor after your little fiasco was resolved. The international presses were busy for days. You were, I believe, the starting patron for the _Arnadalr Herald?"_ He leaned forward. "Your presses are new, your Majesty, but those of other nations have been in operation for decades. Word about you spread from this kingdom across the oceans as fast as the telegraph lines could carry it. I myself gave _three_ exclusive interviews for papers as far away as the Unified Colonies."

He preened a moment and then returned to the issue at hand. "And, of course, the same occurred three years ago after all that trouble with your purported destruction of the 'Devil's Mirror' and the revelation of the Southern Isles' dealings with evil. Of course," he acknowledged, "nobody but you and your family ever _saw_ that mythical artifact, as I recall." Elsa ground her teeth. "And you magnanimously gave the Southern Isles back their king and quickly began a courtship with your former assassin, much to our surprise. You and your, ahem, _affianced–"_ The word "lover" hung in the air, "–made quite a sensational pair for the press. Some even wondered if it had all been planned from the start. Such a union would certainly make Arendelle a most powerful nation."

Elsa found her voice again, lacing it with scorn. "Why would Hans have tried to kill me if I were going to give him the crown he wanted anyway?"

The Duke shrugged. "Stupidity and an excess of ambition? It's hard to say. At any rate, your pardon was an unexpectedly gracious move. Some might even say excessively gracious."

"Suspiciously, you mean."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, your Majesty, I would never dare."

Elsa glared. He met her eyes without hesitation.

"'A most powerful nation,'" she repeated, voice clipped. "It sounds like you consider Arendelle a threat."

"Most countries consider Arendelle a threat, Queen Elsa. Even more so with your imminent union to the prince. When you announced your decision, did you really expect the world not to take notice?"

"Of course I did."

"Of the scandal or of the danger it posed to the rest of us?"

Elsa drew back, startled. She'd anticipated, of course, that she and Hans would face a certain amount of disdain for their decision, considering their history, but she had never considered that other nations would see them as a _political _threat. _I've been thinking too small, _she realized, belatedly. _Too personal._

Her realization must have shown on her face, because the Duke gave her an almost pitying look. "Come now, Queen Elsa. You don't really believe the Unified Colonies or the Levantine Empire sent representatives to Corona for the sake of a _christening, _do you?"

"If you're right, then they already knew what I can do–"

"Of course they knew what you can do. They came to see what you _will _do. They came to _court you, _your Majesty. _Everyone _wants Arendelle—and you—as an ally, the League included."

"I thought you said they considered us a threat."

"They do. A threat _they_ would very much like to be able to levy against _their_ enemies."

There was a pause. Elsa's fingers had tightened nervously.

"They couldn't have known about the war; Corona hadn't even allied with the League yet."

"They didn't need to know about _this_ war," Weselton scoffed. "There will _always_ be a war, your Majesty. That's how politics _works. _Food, money, soldiers, soil—that's all international relations are."

"So which one am I, then?"

Weselton considered her. "…Food," he said finally. "How we get it—or rather, how other people _don't_ get it."

Elsa felt sick. "Then you know nothing about me, Weselton. Tell your Kaiser and the Chancellor I have no interest in helping them lay siege to the Southern Isles."

The Duke bristled. "I am a representative of the Northern League, not her Majesty's messenger boy." He nodded to one of the soldiers, who was holding an envelope. It was passed to her, and she saw the Teutonian coat of arms impressed in the wax: a single-headed dragon with its wings outstretched, a sword through its heart and wreathed in thorns. "And I am not here to personally ask for your assistance, simply to extend the League's invitation. You may discuss the matter with the Chancellor in Cölln-Bärlin."

"And what if I refuse to go?"

"The Chancellor is not a man you want as your enemy."

"I'm not sure I want him as an ally, either."

"This isn't about what _you want,"_ the Duke said sharply. "Read the writing on the wall, your Majesty. The Chancellor and the Kaiser intend to unify the Germanic kingdoms, and with every one they flip, the League grows stronger." He gestured broadly. "Did you think this is about two piddling little duchies in the Isles? This is a battle, your Majesty; the _war _is with the House of Weiss. You can either ally with the League _now, _and help bring _that_ war to a speedy conclusion, or you can come crawling back once our work is complete and the Germanic kingdoms have become a recognized Empire. Believe me, you will not want us as anything other than an ally then."

"So the Chancellor is asking us to support Corona," Anna said, and both turned. It was the first time she'd spoken since embarrassing herself, but it seemed she'd recovered her pride and had been watching the conversation up to this point. The look on her face was guarded, but Elsa was surprised—and somewhat frightened—to see the pinch to her eyes and the political glint therein. It reminded her of Hans. She didn't like it; Anna was supposed to be the carefree one, the ball of sunshine–

_You made her ambassador to Corona,_ the rational side of her mind cut in. _Did you think she wouldn't take it seriously? You need to stop underestimating her._

"Not _Corona," _the Duke sniffed. "The _League."_

"But effectively Corona, since they're the ones fighting this war."

The Duke laughed unkindly. "Is that what you think?" Anna's eyes narrowed. "Corona is sending their navy and some cavalry, yes, but the primary front will be on land, to the south where League lands border the duchies. For that, Weseldorf will be sending men, along with Bremmerburg and, naturally, Teutonia."

"Okay, so what, four kingdoms then–"

"On the contrary, we will have troops from across the League, fed by Schlessian food, led by Teutonian officers, wielding Mecklebürg rifles, wearing uniforms of Bremmerburger wool, backed by Coronian ships and Weseldorf artillery, firing shells made in Pomera. All of it transported by Ulfenburg trains fueled by Alsachtine coal on rails forged in Liedendorf." The Duke steepled his fingers. _"That_ is the League, your Majesties. Alone we were, we _are, _weak, easy prey to dynasties who think nothing of us. But together—_together_ we are strong, and we can build our _own_ destiny."

Elsa's head was spinning. Anna's face had turned red. "So if you're so powerful, why do you need Arendelle?" the princess snapped. The Duke's face darkened.

"Because little Weseldorf boys and girls would like to see their fathers again, Princess. As I said: it is _my _men who are going to war. I have no desire to see them slaughtered like so many sheep on the field of battle. And because the Chancellor does not want to waste good men on a fight he could potentially end without bloodshed."

"Bloodshed on your side, you mean," said Elsa bitterly. "While the Southern Isles starves and freezes to death at my hands."

"The threat alone would be enough to stop them."

"Not if Hans agrees to aid his homeland. Maybe I don't particularly desire opposing my _affianced," _she spat the word, "on the field of battle; has your League considered that?" He did not reply. "You have some nerve, to come groveling back for my help after what you did here. To insinuate that the _suffering _I unwittingly put my kingdom through could become your _advantage."_

"You do not want the League as your enemy, your Majesty."

"And the League does not want _me_ as an enemy, _Weselton." _She sneered the word. "Frankly, your lordship, you have done nothing to help your cause here today. I am _insulted, _on my own behalf as well as Arendelle's."

"I assure you, I did not _request_ this assignment," the Duke snapped. "But I am loyal to the League, the Kaiser and his Chancellor who guides us wisely. The League looks out for its own, your Majesty; sometimes that requires individuals to make sacrifices. Believe me, if it were my decision, we would not be asking a _sorceress_ for assistance."

Elsa stood abruptly and snapped her fingers. Frost flashed like lightning along the walls, layers of ice fractaling out across the desk and around the bookshelves. Snowflakes hung suspended in the air, prompting nervous looks from the Weselton guards.

"I am not a _sorceress." _She swept up a black leather tome off the nearest bookshelf and slammed it down in front of the duke. When he looked, he saw that it was a hymnal. _"Himmelenvelsignet," _Elsa snarled. "If your Kaiser can show me as clear a sign of his divine right to rule as I can, then by all means, let him do so!"

The challenge hung in the air. After a long moment, Elsa drew back, leaving the hymnal in front of his nose. With a wave of her hand, the snow and frost vanished, and the ice melted away. "Tell the Chancellor I will meet him in Cölln-Bärlin in one week's time."

The Duke stood with a cool nod, a look of disgust in his eyes but carefully contained from the rest of his face. "The League extends its gratitude."

"And leave Arendelle. _Tonight."_

The Duke and his guards bowed stiffly and were escorted by Kai out of the library.

As soon as they'd left, Anna whirled around. "Ooh, the nerve of that man!" she cried, pounding her fist into her other hand. "I almost want you to say no, Elsa!"

"Good." The Queen's shoulders were shaking with rage. "Because when I arrive in Cölln-Bärlin, I intend to refuse. Arendelle is going to remain neutral."

* * *

"A telegram for you, sir. Several of them, actually."

The officer handed them off, and waited patiently as the Chancellor read them one by one. When his superior was finished, the soldier offered: "Shall I have a telegram returned, sir?"

"No, but if you could, please relate a message to the General."

"Very good sir, what should I tell him?"

The Chancellor nodded to a servant standing nearby, who took the telegrams away.

"Tell him the Duke of Weseldorf played his part perfectly."

* * *

**A/N: There's the third chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed it; please review and tell me what you thought!**

**As a note: "Duchy of Weselton" and "Duchy of Weseldorf" are the same thing. The first is the name as spoken in Arendellian and the second as spoken in Germanic, as well as the Duchy's proper name. Since they're speaking in Arendellian they both start out using "Weselton"; the Duke switches halfway through the chapter as a way of demonstrating national pride and showing he's not going to be pushed around. Just in case anyone was confused.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

**A/N: For those who are wondering what the Southern Isles castle looks like, picture a larger and roomier version of Prince Eric's castle from _The_ **_**Little Mermaid, **_**but ****in the style of Egeskov Castle, Denmark (check it out at www. egeskov. dk [slash] en [slash] castle). ****Denmark did have a colony in the Caribbean in real life, called the Danish West Indies, comprised of the islands of Saint Thomas, Saint John, Saint Croix and Water Island. Denmark lost this colony to Britain in the Napoleonic wars in 1801, and it is now a territory of the United States. The story of Hans's grandmother creating a little village where she pretended to be a peasant in luxury is a reference to Marie Antoinette's **_**Hameau de la Reine.**_

**Additionally, the frescoes described in the chapel are a reference to the real-world frescoes found in Danish churches, which after being limewished during the Reformation were rediscovered and restored by Danish archeologist Jacob Kornerup at the end of the 1800s. **

**Finally, Bertram was Hans's jailor for the second half of his imprisonment in the Southern Isles, the story of which can be found in my oneshot, **_**Change.**_

* * *

The North Sea waters beneath the _Havskærer_ were not as deep and dark a blue here as it was in the Arendellian fjords, but this close to the shore and in a high wind, they were much choppier. Hans stood near the prow of the ship in his overcoat, having shed his scarf, and watched the waves skimming beneath him. They had been navigating along the Southern Isles' coastline for about a day now, and had entered the Øresund Strait a few hours prior, so that the landmass of the Eastern Mountains' southernmost tip could be seen on the portside horizon. That had been interesting to watch for a while, or the passing coastline of his homeland on the starboard side, but at present he'd become momentarily engrossed watching the waves. The prow cut smoothly through the surges whipped up by the wind, and the glassy waves broke into foam against the wood. Every now and again he could swear he saw the glint of a fish's tail, distinct from the glitter of the sunlight on the water.

"Something the matter, sir?"

He looked up to find that one of the sailors had approached. "My mother used to tell me there were mermaids in the sea," Hans said with a faint smile, peering over the rail into the briny water. "When I was a boy I used to watch for them; I guess it's an old habit."

"Aye, sir, drowning sailors with their enchanted songs, you've got to be wary of them."

"No, no." At the memory of his mother, his face had grown gentle. "Beautiful people, with glittering fishtails in all the colors of the rainbow…she said so long as you sailed above the kingdoms of the merfolk, you need never fear of drowning—that they rescued sailors swept overboard, even though they were a shy people and preferred not to be seen by the eyes of men…"

He trailed off wistfully, and then saw the eyes of the sailor and cleared his throat, straightening up. "All fairy tales, of course."

"Aye, sir…"

_"Hagenkopen, dead ahead!" _The sharp cry rang out from above as the sailor in the crow's nest closed up his telescope. Hans hurried to the other side of the boat.

Three years ago, he had sworn to his older brother that there was not enough money in the world to compel him to come back to the Southern Isles. Now, with several years between him and his torturous days of imprisonment in the Southern dungeons and the unhappy youth which had preceded it, he had been able to separate the unhappiness of family life from the deep love he still felt for his homeland and culture, to say nothing of the people whose care Heaven had entrusted into the hands of his ancestors. _A duty too long shirked, _he thought, as the boat rounded the end of a rocky peninsula, and then he abruptly and unintentionally let out a gasp.

It was as beautiful as he'd remembered, under the great blue sky and lapped by the clean, clear waters below. In the distance he heard the booming of the cannons practicing their military exercises, and he pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes suddenly stinging. He had left this harbor last in the dead of winter; now, in the fresh bloom of spring, the city, the _kingdom _was as he'd remembered it, not in the dark days of his father's and brother's reign, but in the innocence of those childhood hours when he'd walked that same pier with his mother and listened to those same cannons herald the incoming ships.

As they drifted towards the harbor, the prince caught sight of the old well-known shops, the market streets and the taverns—including a few a man of his caste definitely _oughtn't_ have known about, to his own amusement. He saw, too, how the ships marshalled in the harbor were of previously unseen numbers, the massive naval vessels far outnumbering the little fishing vessels. _Say what you will about the Southern Isles, _he thought to himself, almost ruefully, _but our navy is unrivaled, even after partially demilitarizing—except maybe by Dun Broch. _Corona was going to be facing a hell of a fight.

On a cragged peninsula to the east he could the green copper roofs and red brick towers of his childhood home, the castle towering above the rest of the city from its defensible high place. One thing you could not say about the Isles was that it was an easily guarded kingdom; formed entirely of mainland peninsulas and islands caught dead between the Eastern Mountains, Arendelle and the Germanic coastline kingdoms, the Isles had grown from a small fiefdom into a proper European power by building the best damned navy in the North Sea, aside from that of Dun Broch, and establishing a reputation as a ruthless foe who gave no ground and made its enemies pay in blood. This militant history could be seen in the design of the city itself: while modern markets and houses sprawled across the land like new growth after a forest fire, the stone harbor and the medieval castle were ancient, showing their status as the last holds of retreat for the crown and military while the rest of the city burned. As they pulled level to the castle, Hans peered upwards while the ship navigated between two arches of the bridge which led from the keep out to the lighthouse; the stones of the pillar to his right were older than those to his left, evidence of the time a cannon from an enemy ship had brought down that section of the bridge, two centuries before.

A seagull cried and wheeled overhead, sweeping across the blue sky as the ship pulled alongside the royal docks. The prince didn't wait for the gangplank to be lowered, instead shoving on his gloves, swinging his legs out over the rail and dropping like a stone; for one thrilling moment he felt suspended in midair, before his boots hit the wood of the pier, rocking it in the ocean waves. There was a call from the ship as one of the sailors tossed his suitcase down into his arms, and he waved them his thanks before turning around and peering up at his childhood home. Like always, Castle Westergaard towered over the pier like the domineering monarchs who had lived in it, cutting off the rays of the sun and casting the wide stone steps which led to the first gate in cold gray shadow. A servant had been sent to meet him at the gate, a beaky-nosed man of middle age with graying hair tied back in a style at least a century too old, and smoking a pipe from the same era.

"Sire," he said, bowing obsequiously. Hans inclined his head in return. "Welcome home to the Southern Isles. I trust your journey fared well?"

"I daresay it could've gone better, Grimsby," he replied with thinly veiled irony; he'd last seen the footman, Agnar's personal servant, a few days before leaving for Arendelle the _first_ time. Grimsby insisted on taking his suitcase with far too many "sires," and Hans was struck with a barb of longing for Arendelle; he'd forgotten how embarrassing it was to have servants grovelling to him like it was the heart of the middle ages.

"I see, sire. We've all heard the wonderful news, sire. Congratulations on your betrothal."

Hans bit his tongue and cleared his throat. "Yes, of course. Thank you." _No need to tell people what they don't need to know...yet, anyway. _"Where is my brother?"

"I believe he is in the chapel, sire. Shall I escort you there, or have a carriage sent for to bring you to the castle?"

Hans reassured him he could find his own way and requested that his suitcase be taken to his room. Grimsby fussed and hurried away as if it weren't a request (which to be fair, from any of his brothers it wouldn't have been), and the prince began the long walk up to the castle.

The fortress, built atop its peninsular peak, was not easily reached; behind the seaside barbican gate lay a long, winding stone ramp for carts and horses, with intermittent gates, armed with drawbridges and iron porticullæ, subdividing the ramp into a series of sealable chambers into which an invading army could be lured, trapped and shot down from above. Although not exactly practical, it was the only way into the castle; the land-side of the fortress was armed with high walls. Hans took the opportunity to walk in the sunlight and enjoy himself for another ten minutes more—and to prepare himself to meet his brother. He had no doubt that if the war had strung his nerves tight, it was doing worse to the king.

The chapel was in the center of the medieval castle; by the time Hans arrived, he had been bowed and curtsied to so many times that his neck was getting a crick from all the half-bowing. As he ducked inside the chapel and closed the door behind him, he heard a _fft-fft-fft!_ as the candelabras on the walls lit of their own accord, and he paused nervously; his magic, being of divine origin, had a habit of acting up inside churches even with his gloves on, and he glanced around to make sure divine inspiration hadn't accidentally set anything on fire.

The chapel at Castle Westergaard, despite not having seen much use since the death of his mother, had once been the center of life in the royal household, and the richness of antiquity still lived in its walls—quite literally. Above the heavy dark-wood pews, the whitewashed arched ceilings displayed brilliantly painted frescoes, depicting in vivid scarlets, greens and golds scenes from scripture or the lives of the saints. Hans's eyes instinctively found one particularly favorite fresco of St. George slaying the dragon, as if to reassure himself that it was still there, and upon seeing the saint's great white steed trampling the lance-speared dragon and the impressed princess in the background, he turned his gaze to the rest of the chapel.

His brother was the only other soul present, kneeling at the altar rail in front of the large gilt altar with his head bowed. His heavy golden crown had been lain aside while he prayed, although, Hans noted, it had been set upon a properly fine and tasseled cushion. He bit back a snort as he started forward. _And Elsa calls me old-fashioned._

He waited patiently until Agnar had finished his prayers and replaced his crown, and then bowed when his eldest brother and king stood and turned. It would have been more proper to genuflect, but Hans still had too much pride and left-over resentment from a childhood of maltreatment to show quite that much deference. When he raised his head, he saw that Agnar had been sizing him up. He was struck by how tired the man looked, with faint bruises under both eyes and more lines in his face than he remembered. "My king."

"Hans. That trick with the candles was interesting."

"Entirely unintentional, I assure you. Shall we?"

They made their way out of the chapel. As they did so, Hans noted with some curiosity that Agnar had idly tucked a loop of crystal beads back into his pocket. His brother had become a devoutly pious man after his ill-fated attempt at conquering Arendelle, to the point that the youngest Westergaard—no stranger to the pangs of guilt himself—thought the king might be overcompensating a bit. Still, he couldn't really blame Agnar; being nearly dragged into the waiting jaws of everlasting torment would probably make half a monk of any man.

As they entered the keep, Grimsby approached, apparently having deposited the prince's suitcase in his room. Hans suddenly felt a burst of uncustomary goodwill towards his eldest brother as he realized Agnar's decision to send his personal footman to greet his brother had likely been intended as a sign of respect. "Your Majesty," the footman said, bowing deeply, "you have a visitor in the Yellow Room. He's demanding to speak to you with all urgency."

"Is he," Agnar drawled. "Very well. Hans, if you wouldn't mind tagging along–?"

"I think I can manage it."

It wasn't until they arrived in the Yellow Room that Hans realized why Grimsby hadn't told the king who the visitor was. A middle-aged man dressed in a fine suit had been lounging on one of the delicate Francian sofas; he rose to his feet as his king entered and bowed deeply, and Hans felt his blood _boil. _"Your Majesty," the Duke of Ratzeburg said as he straightened up, and then saw the prince. "Ah– and your Highness." Hans was taking off his suit-jacket and handing it to Grimsby. "How, eh, unexpected. You haven't returned to the Isles in years." His face turned greedy as Hans approached. "Have you come to help us with the war effort?"

"It's been a long time, your lordship," Hans agreed with a courteous smile, and then drew back his fist and socked him in the jaw.

The man went sprawling onto the fine Levantine rug as Agnar started forward angrily. "Hans–!"

"Do you have _any _idea the position you've put us in!" the redhead hissed at the duke, who was trying to crawl to his knees and letting out faint moans. "Europe is at war, man. _At war!_ Because of your _idiocy _and _greed!"_

"Hans, enough!"

"Now do tell me where the Duke of Schwarzenbek is, I'd hate to seem partial!"

"Hold your temper or I'll let you find it again in the dungeons!" his brother ordered. Hans, who was breathing hard, glanced around the room and simmered down. He and Agnar both knew full well the palace dungeons would have difficulty holding him for any length of time longer than a half-hour, but it wasn't worth the trouble. He straightened his vest and tie.

"Fine. I'll leave the idiot be." He sneered down at the duke who was crawling into an upright position. "Grimsby, my jacket." He caught Agnar's eye and added grudgingly: "I'll wait outside."

He loitered against the doorpost in the hallway, straining to hear the conversation occurring within. The discussion was low-spoken, and when the Duke left he shot Hans an ugly look. Hans uncrossed one of his arms to look as if he were examining his glove, and couldn't help but take some unkind relish in seeing the man pale and scamper away.

Agnar, who had appeared in the door, watched the duke go. "That was not well done, Hans," he told his brother sharply.

"That man is personally responsible for ruining my life," the prince muttered, thinking of the ring still in his breast pocket. "You're lucky I only punched him."

The king apparently decided not to dignify that with a response as they made their way to the royal dining room. "I see not much has changed around here," Hans tried, by way of an apology. Agnar grunted.

"Not much _looks_ like it's changed, no." He paused. "It's quieter, though."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose…" The castle was hardly small, but it was no south-European palace, and had gotten rather cramped with thirteen princes all swaggering around trying to get their own way.

They had reached the dining room; Agnar was just opening the door when Grimsby returned for a third time. "Your Majesty–"

"Grimsby, whoever it is, have them _wait," _Agnar said sharply. "I think I'm allowed one meal to speak to my brother alone."

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sire," Grimsby persisted, "but Admiral Lund has returned. He's insisting on speaking with you immediately."

"Tell him it can w–"

"He informed me that it appears the rumors of the League acquiring an ironclad is not a rumor." Grimsby hesitated. "Possibly more than one."

There was a beat as the two royals digested this. Agnar was the first to recover. "Are they flying under Coronian colors?"

"No, Sire, Teutonian."

"...I see. Hans–"

"Go." The prince himself felt dazed; he'd read the Unified Colonies' war reports about the power of the ironclad warships with a mixture of awe and terror that only a navy man could feel. "We can talk after lunch."

Agnar clapped him on the shoulder, but it was clear from his expression that his mind was elsewhere. Hans watched him follow Grimsby back down the hall, and then disappeared into the dining room.

Lunch was already being set out; after informing the maid the king would be late, Hans hung his jacket over the back of one of the chairs and looked around the room. It was more or less unchanged from the last time he'd sat here five years ago; heavy, dark wooden beams held up the whitewashed ceiling, under which sat the fine cherry-wood trestle table, a stone fireplace for warmth in the winter, and a few serving tables of the same design. The walls were cluttered with hunting trophies of royal families past: a mounted head of a white stag with his noble velveted antlers, the open maw of a roaring bear, and even the head of a striped orange tiger from his grandfather's failed trade journey to the subcontinent, interspersed here and there with axes and swords. The tiger's pelt had been lain as a rug before the hearth.

Hans sat down and stifled a nervous inhale as the maid served him a bowl of soup and a plate of sausages and mashed potatoes. She poured him a glass of wine and another of water, but he noticed she left only water for his brother.

Lunch was a silent affair, as the maid left with a curtsy after laying the table. He ate his sausages, and then the soup. It was as delicious as he'd remembered. When his potatoes were gone, Hans set down his fork and waited. Fifteen minutes passed, then a half-hour. When the boredom became interminable (he had grown spoiled, he thought, after three years out of the cell) he took off his gloves and, glancing around anxiously as if afraid of being scolded, he snapped his fingers.

The candle in front of him lit up immediately, and he watched it burn in fascination. Elsa had told him to practice in small ways to build up his sense of control, learn to understand and appreciate the magic rather than merely fearing it. If he were being honest, part of the reason he was wary of his magic, even after all these years, was because he _enjoyed_ using it. The feeling of divine power, bending easily to his will, caused no small genuine delight—as if some long-scorned hobby or talent from childhood had suddenly been allowed to him again. Unlike before, the power was not corrupted; it did not call out to him, tempt him towards seizing its might for his own. But he knew his own damaged nature well enough to be wary of what magic could do in the wrong hands.

It had gotten...easier, now that the shard was gone. After living with it for nearly his entire life, he could tell the difference: there was no longer that subtle tug, that whispered persuasion that told him ruthlessness and success would go hand-in-hand. But easier did not mean _easy. _Decades of built-up habits could not be so easily discarded: lies still often rose to his tongue easier than truth, and he still saw the worst in people sooner than the best.

And to be frank, the latter had saved his life enough times that he didn't _want_ to discard it.

The door opened, and Hans jumped; the flame leapt from the wick onto the table, and he swore loudly as he hurried to smother it before the wood caught fire. Agnar watched with a mildly unimpressed expression from the doorway, and Hans pulled his gloves back on, his face heating with embarrassment. Agnar sat down, looking weary.

"...So," Hans said, when the king did not speak. "Ironclads."

"There's no use in discussing it."

Hans bit his tongue. Agnar was looking down at his cold soup as if he couldn't really see it.

"You ordered me home on the first ship," the prince said at last, drawing his brother from reverie. "Why?"

"You know why."

"I want to hear it from you."

Hans watched the change pass over the face of the king. Agnar steepled his fingers, studying his brother from across the table with a hard and calculating look, so much like their father's had been. Hans fought and suppressed the urge to glare back, but the childish fear still curdled in his gut. He and Agnar had been slowly rebuilding their familial relationship over the last three years, but old habits died hard.

"Arendelle is a valued ally," the king began. "I called you back here to officially name you as the Isles' primary ambassador to our northern neighbor for the duration of the war." Hans didn't answer. He'd been expecting that, but he knew it wasn't all Agnar had to say. "As you know, I have not yet been able to form a council. As such, the decision to go to war falls solely to me."

"And I presume you are not going to let the duchies go without a fight."

"Do you know what's happened in Ratzeburg, Hans?" The prince shook his head. "The duke and his family were driven out of their ancestral home, which was then burned to the ground by rioting seditionists."

"Sedition. Now that's an ugly word," the prince said, turning the term over in his mouth. "'Revolutionary' strikes a much more romantic tone."

Agnar's eyes seemed to blaze up with anger. "You cannot tell me you approve–"

"Of burning people's homes and throwing innocent women and children out into the cold? No, I don't. But you can't deny the duke and his ancestors have ill-treated the people of Ratzeburg."

"If they had just been patient another year or two–!"

"They're tired of being patient," Hans said, echoing Kristoff's explanation from a few days prior. "They don't know if they can trust us, and three centuries of abuse and indignity weighs heavy on that scale. Your hesitance at incorporating them properly didn't help; frankly, I can sympathize."

"You wouldn't betray your homeland."

Hans's eyes flashed. "Don't be ridiculous. I said I could understand, not that I agree. And I wouldn't like sending the message to the League that they can do as they please to sovereign states. But that doesn't mean I think war is the best option."

"War is our _only_ option," Agnar said shortly. "You know the situation here at court. My position is precarious at best; if I let the League run roughshod inside our borders I will lose any remaining support from the noble houses. With one of our brothers at the helm, the Isles would slip back into the feudal ages—precisely as the old houses would prefer it." Hans inclined his head. "We _need_ Arendelle's help."

"Arendelle might not see it that way. And we have not done much to earn their favor."

"Yet they are nonetheless our allies. I was, as you recall, named after the then-king of Arendelle and made his godson as a sign of goodwill between our countries."

"Right before Father stabbed them in the back and invaded their kingdom, yes."

They looked at each other.

"Our father made a mess of everything," Agnar rumbled. "And now you and I have done the damn fool thing of following in his footsteps." Hans sighed and nodded. "What is the Queen going to do?"

Hans decided it was time to be blunt. "She won't side with us."

"Then you'll have to convince her."

He laughed humorlessly. "Have you ever tried to convince Elsa of anything?"

"You're her fiancé, surely–"

"I'm not. She broke off the engagement."

Agnar gaped at him. "I thought she was enamored with you."

"Elsa is a queen first and a woman second. She returned the ring to me before I left." Hans took it out of his breast pocket and handed it over for his brother to see. "And I think she was right to. She couldn't encumber such a weighty decision with something as trivial as an engagement."

"Hans, you blasted fool–"

"She was never going to go to war against Corona, you must have realized that. Don't blame me for the way the world is."

Agnar dropped the ring on the table, stood, and paced away, thinking. Hans quietly put it back in his pocket and watched his brother.

"If she has broken the betrothal, then you are likewise unattached."

"So it seems."

"Then you will aid the Southern Isles."

"I haven't decided yet."

"That was not a question." Agnar turned. "This is your homeland. You have a duty–"

"I may have higher duties than this."

"I am your king! You will do as I–"

"Agnar, don't embarrass yourself by pretending you can tell me what to do."

A staring match developed over the table.

"You know what I can do, Agnar," Hans said lowly. "You know better than _anyone_ how dangerous this is."

"Which is why you must stand with your _country. _Corona's navy will be at our doorstep in a fortnight! With you, we can stand against the power of the League!"

"Maybe I don't want that blood on my hands!" the prince hissed. "Did you ever think about that?! Maybe I don't want to go back to being a murderer!"

"You have an obligation–!"

"You are not the only one I have obligations to!"

Agnar moved towards him abruptly, but Hans sprang to his feet and tore off his glove. The king stopped dead.

_"Dont," _Hans breathed, "test me, brother. For my sake and yours." The king stared as if he'd never quite seen his younger brother before. "And don't delude yourself into thinking I alone could defend you from von Eisen. I might be powerful, Agnar, but at best I might be the equal of _your_ forces. Even Elsa could not stand against the League if von Eisen really wanted to take Arendelle."

"You could deter him," Agnar countered. "You could make taking the duchies too bitter a fight."

"If you're going to ask me to _personally_ take the lives of thousands of men, Agnar, then rest _assured_ that the decision will be mine and mine alone. And in case you've forgotten, there's a _kingdom_ waiting for me back in Arendelle. Our engagement might be broken, but if I were to go back now I could just as easily court the queen again. So don't pretend you can move me around like a tin soldier."

He turned to go. From behind him, Agnar spoke:

"If you do this for us—for your homeland—I will name you Crown Prince of the Southern Isles."

Hans stopped.

"My position is too unstable. I cannot find a woman of any standing willing to become my queen, and the noble houses likely won't stand behind any child of mine from lowly birth. You...they know they would not be able to stand against you." Hans did not reply. "At my death you would assume the crown and be able to unify Arendelle and the Isles. You can take _that_ back to your Queen Elsa."

Agnar watched as his brother turned. The prince's face was inscrutable.

"Do you _honestly_ think she'd have me after that?"

The king didn't respond.

"I'm going to pretend this conversation didn't happen. I'll forgive you this time, brother—I can imagine the difficulties of being king, especially a king about to go to war." Hans's face softened. "I'll see you this evening. We can try discussing this again then."

He left. Agnar watched the door close behind him, and then returned silently to his lunch. He reached for the matches as if to light the snuffed candle, but seemed to give up and left the box on the table, unopened.

* * *

Hans spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the castle, pacing restlessly from room to room. At one point he saw the Duke of Ratzeburg's family being settled by the servants into one of the guest quarters, a disheveled-looking noblewoman and her three children. To his shame, he'd fled like a coward to an obscure corner of the library. He'd had no desire to encounter a tearful mother begging him for valiant oaths to restore her home.

When at last the time for his second meeting with Agnar arrived, he found that it had been set aside to the following morning due to an emergency war meeting with Admiral Lund and the king's other senior military officers. Hans, whose titles of "Captain" and later "Admiral" had been almost purely ceremonial, remembered Admiral Lund as a distant and faceless superior, second only to his elder brother Gunnar and more the name on the letters containing his orders than anything else. As such, he was surprised when he was asked to attend the war council, and accepted warily, worried that Agnar may have made promises the younger Westergaard could not keep.

The news was not good. The rumors of not one but two ironclads, patterned after the Colonial model, had been confirmed by Southern intelligence in the Northern Sea near Corona. The Duke's expulsion from Ratzeburg by revolutionaries had happened too quickly to put down, and the Germanic citizens thereof had assembled into a militia, causing the crown's military to swiftly move south into an occupation of Schwarzenbek, where it seemed the battle lines had been drawn. With Ratzeburg having declared themselves liberated from Southern control and a part of the Northern League, the League troops had crossed the Mecklebürg border. Whether this constituted an act of war depended on whether Ratzeburg's independence was legitimate, and that sort of legitimacy, Hans knew, was largely dependent on whether Ratzeburg could hold onto it for long enough to make it so.

Regardless, with the League having been welcomed by the Ratzeburg's citizens as allies and brothers, it was only a matter of time before outright conflict erupted on the Schwarzenbek-Ratzeburg border. Fendoland had already declared neutrality; Hans's statement that Arendelle would at best do the same was met with grim expressions around the table.

"What about the Eastern Mountains?" one of the generals asked.

"We are still awaiting their response." The king's hands were clasped behind his back as he studied the large war map, scattered here and there with movable blocks and figurines representing units of men.

"I don't understand how they could have assembled so quickly!" a commander insisted.

"Trains," Hans said grimly. "They can deploy double the troops we can in half the time, and the League's railway lines run into the heart of Mecklebürg, here." He pointed to a place on the map in the center of the nearest League state to the Southern border. "They've lain lines across their whole territory: Weselton, Pomera, Ulfenberg—" He could see in his mind's eye the stamp of gleaming black boots and the white clouds of steam, filling platforms all across the Germanic kingdoms. "—all leading back to Cölln-Bärlin in Teutonia. They can recruit soldiers from anywhere in the League."

There was a long silence. Hans knew what every man was thinking, because he was thinking it too: they were outnumbered, outarmed, and now outraced. Without foreign assistance, the Southern Isles could not win this war.

Then he looked up, and saw every eye on him.

"Are you quite sure," said the commander who had spoken last, eyeing him carefully, "that Arendelle will not support us?"

"Quite certain, I'm afraid."

"You were present at the Queen's coronation, weren't you?"

Hans licked his lips. His mouth suddenly felt dry. "Yes." Of course they knew that.

"Arendelle," said the commander thoughtfully, looking down at the map, "is not a small country."

"Thankfully," Hans agreed sharply. "As it meant the southernmost provinces were spared entirely from the Queen's unfortunate loss of control. I don't believe they were subjected to more than a few particularly chilly rainy days."

"And all that, from a simple accident," the commander mused aloud.

"I believe it best that this meeting be adjourned." The rest of the council looked over as the king abruptly spoke up. "Discussing it further tonight will do us no good. We will reconvene tomorrow. Gentlemen."

Grudgingly, the war council began to file out. Hans remained behind. "Thank you," he said lowly.

Agnar did not acknowledge this. "I expect to see you for breakfast tomorrow. Half-nine."

Hans nodded. Agnar left without another word, and the prince was left to return to his room alone.

When he reached his room, he founded it attended by two guards in full uniform. Hans noted that instead of the ceremonial pikes, both carried military rifles. He gave them a wry nod as he entered, which they did not return, and then closed the door behind him. Apparently Agnar was not about to let his best chance at victory go unprotected—or come and go unnoticed.

Hans lit the candle on the nightstand with a wave of his hand and looked around as the soft yellow light fell over the room. His bedroom was exactly as he'd left it three years ago, albeit tidied up and neatly dusted by the maids. Against the left-hand wall near the fireplace was his old canopy bed, the blue silk curtains tied back and his suitcase waiting on the floor beside it. Suddenly taking a suitcase seemed very foolish to the prince; all of his old clothes were still here, and probably a damn sight finer than those he'd brought from Arendelle.

Opposite the door was the window, and in the nearest corner to it, his desk. A bookshelf with old favorites from the library, a globe, a telescope and a few other knick-knacks stood nearby, and an antique sixteenth-century map depicting the New World was framed over the desk. Against the right-hand wall was a door leading to a small dressing room and bathroom. That was all. Once, this room had been stuffed with toys and games, but those childish tokens had long since vanished—with one exception. On the bookshelf next to the globe, kept carefully free from dust, was a broken wooden sword tenderly laid to rest in its little leather scabbard.

He shrugged off his jacket and absent-mindedly moved the candle on the nightstand further away from the flammable silk curtains, before he stopped and looked down. On the nightstand, as always, sat the thin mother-of-pearl case, glimmering faintly in the candlelight. He glanced to the flame as its flickering grew more erratic, and then back to the box. Before he could lose his nerve, he flipped the latch and opened the lid of the box.

As expected, it was empty. The red velvet lining showed slight signs of water stains. Hans stared at the box, almost unwilling to believe its contents could have vanished so tracelessly.

He could remember those gloves perfectly; he'd certainly worn them long enough, for nearly fifteen years in one size or another. He could recall the way they had always seemed slightly cool to the touch, even after being worn for hours, and had assumed that this was simply a property of the high-quality fabric. He knew now that, unlike the ordinary silk or leather gloves his brothers had been forced to wear, his had frequently been made of enchanted _snow. _He winced, remembering as much in muscle memory as in recollection the wrath of his father upon being caught without them. To be fair, he hadn't been alone; his brothers had faced similar ire for neglecting to appear "proper," although they had often taken it out on him afterwards. Now he knew why.

_They knew. _He stared down at the cotton gloves currently concealing his hands. _They all knew. For more than fifteen years…_ Layers upon layers of memory enchantments, magic gloves, a naval captainship at the comically young age of sixteen, dismissed staff—all of it, to keep him ignorant of the power he'd held until the proper moment. _So that I'd never have an opportunity to use it against them. So that they'd never see the day I took the crown from Agnar by force and put the kingdom under my heel._

He had discussed with Anna the disorientation and mistrust of her own mind she'd felt after realizing many of her childhood memories had been magically altered; she was the only person with the ability to sympathize. _"Every now and then I'll remember something weird that happened, y'know? And suddenly I'll realize it couldn't have really happened that way," _she'd rambled to him one sunny summer afternoon. _"It's not a great feeling. Grand Pabbie looked right ashamed when I gave him a piece of my mind about it!"_

Hans shut the box abruptly and went to the window. Beyond the glass, he could see the still-busy city streets thronged with people and the wavering waters of the harbor reflecting the last vestiges of the violet-rose sunset. There were more lights now, he thought, than when he'd last looked out from that glass, nearly five years ago. There was more color in the streets too, and more noise. It had all come about in under three years at his brother's hand, at Queen Elsa's mercy and at his own quiet request, his lone contribution to the effort.

Somehow, he realized, that irritated him. He had spent months, even years of his life, alone in the library or pacing this room, silently giving political speeches, drafting laws, setting the world imaginarily aright. He had saved these people a hundred times in his fantasies; it seemed a bitter medicine now, to know that Agnar had done it in reality. The Southern Isles had been saved more or less without him, and Arendelle did not need saving. _There's no role of hero left for me to play._

He realized once again, to his shame, that that was what he'd always wanted: to be a hero. To win honor and admiration, and public love. His noblest virtues could always be twisted down that darker path if he didn't closely guard them, and he had seen once in a mirror, not so long ago, where that road would lead. He pictured the Coronian fleet, burning as fire rained from the sky, and felt sick at the vision. Then he thought of the men around the war-table, looking at him with thinly-veiled desperation.

There were too many factors to consider. Side with the Isles, and many good Coronian men and others would die; side with the League, and he would be slaughtering his own countrymen. Hold back, and see those same countrymen die in front of League bullets and cannons instead. Fight for the Isles, and hold the duchies captive after three hundred years of abuses; fight against the Isles or remain neutral, and destabilize Agnar's position even further, possibly risking all the progress that had been made for the common man in the last three years. Fight with the Isles, and kill men who only wanted their freedom from a conquering state; fight against the Isles, and reaffirm to the world that a conquering state like the League had the right to invade sovereign nations and take whatever they damn well pleased. Fight with either side, and possibly be ordered to rain down hellfire on innocent civilians.

And all of this was to say nothing of what his ex-fiancée would do. No matter what he chose, he would have a hand in the deaths of hundreds, possibly thousands—either directly, or by not preventing it. Even if he could manage to put politics and family loyalties and personal greed aside—even if he chose to play the game purely as a moral agent, not a desirous one—there _was no way to win._

All of a sudden he felt he couldn't stay in the castle another moment longer. Not with the Duke of Ratzeburg and his homeless, haggard family sleeping down the hall; not with the war map waiting like a keg of gunpowder two floors below.

He changed into a pair of ordinary trousers and a blue button shirt, shrugged on his wool overcoat and donned a workman's cap. Then he threw open the window and breathed in the cold air off the sea. Nobody else in the castle knew it, but the bricks of his dormer-window jutted out in such a way that, with a little effort, it was possible to climb up onto the roof, or—if you had a lot of nerve—down onto the dormer-window below, and from there to the ivy that grew up the outer castle walls. He knew the way well, having escaped by window many times as a teenager for a night of dancing with the pretty city girls, or just to get away from his brothers. Now he needed it for a graver purpose.

Ten minutes later, he had vanished into the streets of Hagenkopen, one man among many.

* * *

There were benefits to being the unlucky thirteenth, he mused to himself as he passed through the closing fish-market; with his distinctive red hair carefully hidden under the cap, he was not immediately recognizable to the townspeople. He had become (in)famous to his people over the course of the last five years, but as the Southern Isles had only recently acquired its first newspaper, not many people had memorized his face and tended to presume from the stories that he was either maliciously hideous or devilishly handsome. _Nobody ever believes pretty people can be villains, _he thought with amusement as he turned down a sideroad.

Hans had heard stories as a child how his grandmother, a thoroughly vain woman, had entertained herself by building a whole little Southern village on their colony in the West Indies, complete with a miniature replica of the Royal Castle in stucco and red tile, rather than stone and copper. She'd gone so far as to import "proper" peasants and dress them up in traditional Southern clothing, turning the town into a strange amalgam of European and New World aesthetics; while his grandfather had spent his life ruling the Isles, his grandmother, after bearing him a son, had passed the cold winter months on her personal island, playing roles like an actress as she chose: a queen one day, a washerwoman or milkmaid the next, living out her fantasies of being poor and desperate with all the comfort of knowing a soft bed awaited her at home.

Hans, who had always found her actions distasteful, had as a youth resolved his own guilt at "playing peasant" by making a point of striking up political conversations with the locals whenever he snuck out of the castle, seeking their opinion on how the kingdom was being run. Rarely had what he'd learned been favorable of his family, and it had been these encounters which had helped the disgust for his father's way of running things, first felt while helping his mother's charity projects, grow from a seed into a properly populist weed.

Tonight was no exception, and he was pleased to see that economic conditions, at least, appeared to be improving. Fewer penniless beggars pleaded for their daily bread on the street corners; fewer mothers with thin faces led their equally thin children along the road towards the cathedral for charity. After twenty minutes, he ducked into a tavern and went up to the bar. He passed over a couple øre as the barkeep slid a glass of watered-down rum his way.

"So," the bartender said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, "where are you from? Haven't seen you around here before."

Hans took a drink. The rum was awful. "Southern-born, but I've been abroad in the Unified Colonies." He thought a moment back to the reports he'd read on the war. "Helping in their little civil dispute."

"Aye, fighting the great scourge." Hans inclined his head. "That's noble of you."

"Yes, well…everyone wants to be a hero."

The lies felt leaden in his gut, but he didn't have time to dwell on it, because the bells over the door jangled as more patrons entered. As always, he sipped his rum, sat back, and listened.

The discussion was on the war; it seemed all anyone could talk about. Hans was unsurprised to hear that it was unpopular; wars rarely were with the lower classes. When the bartender mentioned that the stranger had recently fought in the Colonies, they began to pester him with questions. Hans made up a few answers from what he remembered from the reports and then deflected:

"Things seem different here; I've been away from the Isles for a long while. What's happened since I left?"

Hans listened to their stories, reacting with appropriate shock as he heard about his own dealings in Arendelle for the last several years. "What a damned idiot," he said as he downed the rest of his drink. "But I'm glad to hear things are turning up here."

The man barked a laugh. "Yeah, well. We all knew it was too good to last. You know the Westergaards: they look out for their own and their friends, and not much else." Hans set down his glass, interested.

"None of you want to fight to keep the duchies?"

"Who wants to go to war for no reason? Aside from you, anyway."

"Certainly there's reason enough; they're our countrymen…"

"Horseshit," said another patron bluntly. "Schwarzenbek and Ratzeburg have never been Southern and they've never wanted to be." There were murmurs from the others at her words, the bartender included. "We thought the Crown was turning over a new leaf," she concluded darkly, "but they're just the same warmongers as before. They don't care what happens to us so long as their coffers get bigger. You know they arrested a boy protesting down in Potter's Square."

"Arrested for protesting…" He'd have to have a talk with Agnar about that.

"Well," the woman admitted, "he did try to shoot the recruitment officer." Hans wanted to say something sarcastic about how assassination was a rather different matter than protest, but before he could she added darkly: "Not that I blame the boy. If I were a man, I'd be none too kind to a recruiter walking around my neighborhood, talking about loyalty to the king and all that."

"If you're lookin' ta shoot someone, Gitte, you could go fight for the League," one of the other patrons, an old man, said with a gap-toothed grin. "I hear Corona takes women soldiers."

There were laughs around the bar. The woman snorted and ordered a rum-and-water. "Don't tempt me, Jan."

_Mighty unpopular, then. _"Might be time to hightail it out of here, it seems," he pretended to muse, polishing off the last few drops of rum. "Is the king going to establish a _leding?"_

"Nothing's been said yet. But if we're going to war against the League, probably," the first man said darkly. Silence descended over the group as the threat of military conscription loomed like a shadow over the dingy tavern walls. Too many of them, he knew, remembered losing friends and family to his father's _leding_-built army against Arendelle three decades prior. After a pause, he decided to take a risk.

"What if the prince helped?"

There was a stir among the patrons. "You mean Prince Johannes," the woman said. Hans nodded.

"He won't," the first man replied. "He's off in Arendelle with that pretty queen of his." He snorted and knocked back a gulp of rum. "They say that magic he's got came from a deal with the devil, just like his ice witch."

"Is that so," said Hans mildly.

"It doesn't matter how he got it," the woman argued, "if it saves our boys from dying in front of League cannons."

"It doesn't matter at all. He's not coming." The man sneered. "We all know what he did in Arendelle. Hell knows how he got back in the queen's good graces–"

"In her bed, you mean!" Jan interjected.

"–But he's a man who looks to his own advantage, like all the Westergaards. We've got as much chance getting help from him as we do from a flying pig."

"If he stops the war," the woman said stoutly, "then he'll be a damn sight better than his brother, whatever else he's done."

"Yeah. _If."_

Hans put his glass down as somewhere outside a church tower chimed half-eight. "Sorry to leave, gents, ma'am, but my captain's expecting me back 'fore nine."

They waved him off, and he slipped out of the tavern into the cool of the evening. The sky had turned a deep jewel-blue, spangled with stars, and despite the onset of spring his breath still fogged in the air. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked to the next tavern.

* * *

He woke up with a sore head and a bad taste in his mouth the next morning, which was to be expected; he'd visited five taverns over the course of the evening and had had to drink at every one. Each had been filled with men and women of more or less the same opinions as the first; while there had been a few voices clamoring for holding the duchies and "showing the League where they can put their _Jäger _rifles," by and large the popular sentiment had been against the war, and against the king. The most disheartening thing to Hans was how many had begun their indictment with, "I thought things might be changing around here, but…"

Agnar had said that breakfast was to be served at half-nine; even with his hangover, force of habit after years in the navy had woken the prince at dawn, so he got a bread roll from the kitchen and made his way down to the dungeons.

His descent into the lowest depths of the castle was a nerve-wracking one. As a boy he'd never come down this way, and his knowledge that criminals languished in cold and hunger beneath the fine rugs and hardwood floors had rarely crossed his mind. Now, passing through the heavily guarded doors and down the shadowed stone stairs, he couldn't help but think about how he'd once been marched down those same steps, believing he'd never come back up them save for his execution.

When the head jailkeeper showed him which cell the protester was being held in, he almost went right back up the stairs. Somehow he marshalled the courage to hold his place. "I would like to speak to him."

"Very good, your Highness."

The cell door was opened, and Hans stepped inside. The prisoner looked up.

"Who'n the hell are you?"

Hans didn't hear him. He was looking around the cell. In truth, he didn't need to; he knew every crack, every dimple in the stone, every scuff on the floor and whorl in the wood. He knew it better than he knew his own reflection; after all, he'd spent more time looking at it.

"I asked, who in the _hell_ are _you?"_

He looked down. The young man—blond, blue-eyed, angry—looked back. Hans cleared his throat.

"Prince Johannes," he said, then added: "of the House of Westergaard."

The prisoner blinked abruptly.

"The one who tried to kill the queen of Arendelle?"

"Ah– yes, that's me."

"And now you're fucking her?"

"Ehm." Hans wasn't sure how to reply to that. "Eh, no, not– not quite that, yet." The prisoner snorted in disbelief and looked away. "I hear you shot at a royal official."

The young man smirked up at him. He couldn't have been older than nineteen. "One of your high-and-mighty officers came along into my neighborhood and told us lads it was our chance to enlist and fight for the glory of the kingdom. So I shot the plume off his stupid helmet."

"I see."

"Yeah." The boy grinned. "Too bad I didn't get my second shot off."

Hans bit his tongue. "Well. You're clearly handy with a pistol. Why not enlist? Better pay–"

"–Than most trades, yeah, he told us. And that says something, doesn't it? Course," he said with a shrug, "there are other uses for a pistol. Other kinds of wars, too."

"You know, as a professional tip, don't _announce_ you're planning a coup to the people you're coup-ing against. Trust me, assassinations are hard enough to pull off as it is."

The boy flushed. "I'm proud of what I believe. I don't need to hide it from fat swine like you."

"Ah. So you're what they call an anarchist."

"I don't know anything about that. But I know the Francian revolutionaries had the right idea of things. They've done themselves a damn injury by bringing back the monarchy." He leered at the prince. "What do you think of that?"

"I think revolution is a damn fool idea."

"Then you're an idiot, too."

"My brother is trying to change things," Hans argued. "With him–"

"With him, _what? _We, the people, don't need your family anymore, _Prince Johannes." _The prince ground his teeth. "We could run this country better on our own, without a monarchy. Besides, if he's so _concerned_ with us _peasants, _why's he sending us all out to war with the League?"

"He's going to war _for you, _don't you understand that?"

"Oh yeah, sure, 'for us.' Right. So when we bleed out in some wheatfield in Ratzeburg, that's for us, is it? You know what they say, _sire: _rich man's war, poor man's fight and all that."

"You don't understand the political situation."

"Maybe not," said the boy coolly. "But I know that the glory of a kingdom means nothing to the dead."

There was a long silence. Then Hans stood up and walked to the door. He waved down the guard. "Let him go."

"I beg your pardon, sire?"

"Let him go. Prince's pardon." Hans looked back at the man on the bench. "He's just a young and impulsive idiot. And like most young and impulsive idiots...he's got a point."

"Sire," the guard agreed politely, though he clearly wasn't sure what Hans was getting at. For a second, the prince felt an irrational urge to start screaming at the guard: why were they all pretending they didn't know him, that they hadn't treated him like vermin the same as any of these men? What more dignity did his reestablished title grant him than these prisoners, many far less criminal than he? What put _him_ above the law and the unpleasantness of life?

He repressed the urge and went back upstairs. At half-nine, he met Agnar in the dining room. His brother looked even more haggard than Hans himself.

Breakfast was hot coffee with rye bread, cheese, sausages and raspberry jam, and rye-porridge on the side. Outside the window, dark clouds gathered, and it started to rain, the sound of thunder mixing with the cries of the harbor gulls. As they finished, Agnar said, "You look hungover."

"You look like you didn't sleep," Hans countered, taking a sip of his coffee. Agnar grunted. "I've talked to some people," the prince added vaguely. "The war is not popular."

Agnar looked up sharply. "Which people?"

"Didn't catch their names," he lied easily. "Are you going to issue a _leding?"_

"And what if I said that depends on you?"

Hans didn't answer. The maid approached with an after-breakfast bitter, but both brothers declined. "You didn't have wine with lunch yesterday," Hans noted as the girl left the room.

"Observant of you."

"But I bet if it were a Sunday, you would have taken that bitter," the prince said shrewdly. Agnar didn't reply. "I can't understand how a king who fasts from alcohol on weekdays can ask a man like me to fight in his war without it bothering his conscience."

"The bishop says our victory is the will of God–"

"Every man thinks his kingdom's victory is divinely willed," Hans said bluntly. "If God wants me to rain down fire and brimstone on the League, He'll have to ask in person like everyone else."

Agnar gave him a sharp look as if this may have constituted blasphemy, and Hans met it coolly. "Brother. Your kingdom needs your help."

"So I've heard."

"This isn't for personal glory." Agnar stood and walked to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. "It isn't for wealth, or for land. This war is a _necessity."_

"To appease the noble class," Hans agreed. "But the common people–"

"Have no power. Our family has so thoroughly disenfranchised them that now when we need them, there is nothing their support can do for us." The king shook his head. "They don't understand," he said lowly, almost to himself. "They don't understand the position I'm in."

"You can't win this war," Hans argued. "Brother, you _know_ that. You'll be going to war for no reason at all. There _has_ to be another way."

"There isn't."

"What if the military stood with you? Certainly the noble houses wouldn't instigate a coup if the army were at your side."

"It wouldn't," Agnar replied darkly. "Many of those same houses' sons and fathers are our top generals and commanders. Those under them have been ill-served by your Queen Elsa's orders to demilitarize our navy three years ago; there are many 'retired' majors and captains who would like nothing more than to return to the crown's teat and sell their swords for profit. And the common footsoldier is worth little on the field or deck without a leader."

"The crown has more money than the noble houses; could you hire mercenaries…?" Agnar shot him a flat look, and Hans sighed. "I know, I know. Machiavelli is chiding me from the grave."

"I need the noble houses on my side. There is no other option."

"They will never be loyal to you if you continue trying to modernize. The first chance they get to oust you, they'll take it. You know that."

Agnar didn't answer, and the youngest prince sighed again, realizing they were rehashing a conversation both of them had rehearsed in their minds already a hundred times. "They want you to go to war," Hans murmured, and then looked at his brother. "But I saw those same 'generals and commanders' last night. They _know_ we can't win."

"They've placed a lot of hope in you. They know the stories of what the Queen can do; they believe you can do likewise." Hans looked away. "Can you?"

"Hell, Agnar, I don't know!" he burst out. "I've never exactly tried!"

"Well you're going to have to try," Agnar said sharply, turning to face him. "Hans. _Brother, _your kingdom needs you. Your _people _need you. I'll have no choice but to establish conscription if you won't come to our aid!"

"You cannot enter a war you can't win!"

"I cannot do otherwise! If I let the League take the duchies, who knows what they'll do next!"

"The Chancellor isn't interested in Scandinavia," Hans dismissed, but Agnar laughed coldly.

"Did he tell you that? Did you _believe_ him?" The prince faltered. "Anyway, whether he was telling the truth or not, it doesn't matter. The fear that he _could, _that I would have _let_ him, would be enough to throw the noble houses into an uproar. The army would follow. My head would be on a pike by the end of the _week."_

"And Balthazar on the throne in two years' time," Hans sighed. "But if they know they can't win–"

"They believe I can convince you," Agnar countered. "Hans. Please. You know I'm not doing this for my own sake. But I can't…I _cannot_ let this kingdom become again what it was under our father and grandfather. I have responsibilities to our people."

The prince dropped his gaze, staring down at the remains of his porridge.

"Can I count on you? Can our _kingdom_ count on you?"

There was a long pause. Then Hans sighed.

"Give me the rest of the day. I'll have my decision for you by tomorrow."

The relief in Agnar's face was almost too much to bear.

* * *

He had made a serious miscalculation in having the guards free the young protester. By midday, word that Prince Johannes had returned from Arendelle had spread throughout the city, and a crowd had congregated outside the castle gates despite the rain—some demanding to speak to him, others just curious to catch a glimpse of the magical oddity who was their prince. The press had even printed a story, complete with a grainy copy of the photograph which had appeared in the _Arnadalr Press_ after his pardoning three years ago.

Hans watched them from the library window, cursing himself. He may as well have lit a signal fire announcing his arrival. _Now all of Hagenkopen knows you're here, _he thought, _idiot! _

He had retreated to the library after breakfast and hadn't left since. The wisdom he sought from the old tomes around him seemed contradictory and, therefore, useless. Prudence and morality seemed to be crashing into each other with every page he flipped in alternating fits of anxiety and distraction. Augustine's theory of Just War fired its volleys at Machiavelli, while Machiavelli's logic attempted a flanking maneuver by avoiding moral questions altogether in lieu of sheer practicality. Fa Mulan's _Book of War _advocated for a short war over a costly prolonged engagement, but had nothing to say about what to do when the means to a shorter war might cost oneself one's very soul. Plato, so often his counsellor, proved now opaque: civil war, the old teacher argued, was to be avoided—but whether the conflict with the duchies constituted civil war depended on the side from which it was viewed. More importantly, Hans thought with irony, saying that civil war _ought_ to be prevented was all well and good, but the time for establishing a just rule of the duchies was past; a line had been crossed, and the only choice now was in what way to go forward.

He turned to war manuals, and found a lot of good ways to make a lot of other people die. He closed the war manuals and paced. He checked the window. The crowd had grown larger. Hans wished he could talk to Elsa; for all of her fretting and vacillating, she had a much stronger moral compass than he did. He took the ring out of his pocket and examined the diamond in the thin gray sunlight. It glittered dully, and he sighed. He couldn't go running to Elsa every time he needed to make a moral decision, and besides, she was far away in Arendelle, dealing with her own problems. He had to do this without her.

The thought that he may have already severed ties with her forever was too painful to entertain, so he suppressed it, tucking the ring securely back in his pocket.

When evening fell again, he retreated to his room. The crowd had dispersed with the daylight, and a fire had been lit in his room against the chill. Hans had the good sense to put it out, intuiting that the nervousness of his mood might not be safe around open flame. He bathed, dressed, and then opened his suitcase.

Lying on top, neatly, was the copy of _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ he had received from the Chancellor. It felt heavier than he recalled and, lighting the candle, he settled into the bed and began to read.

The first _märchen_ in the book was _Briar Rose, _and immediately, blissfully, he lost himself in the story. He followed it with _Mother Holle, _then _Little Ashputtle, Snow-White, _and _The Water of Life. _Inside those wonderful pages, the world was right and made sense: he _was_ the handsome princes who fought monsters and rescued maidens, or the neglected siblings who were proven right in the end. The irony did not escape him that he both was and was not these characters: he had been led astray in his pride by their examples, thinking himself the fate-assured victor, and yet had fulfilled their prophecies, as it were, when he'd least expected it.

The book offered respite, and seemed also to promise answers: surely, somewhere in those pages, he'd find what he was supposed to do, what role he was supposed to play in this war. _Who I'm supposed to be. _Brave heroes, courageous knights and devoted lovers swayed him in turn. He read and read until his eyes ached, until the candle burned low, until the open book dropped heavily onto his chest and sleep overtook him…

* * *

_The snow rolled back like waves off the sea, and he stalked forward. The sword, perfectly balanced, hung easily in his hand. And yet, instinctively, he stopped._

_ Somewhere along the line his hands had been stripped bare; they burned now, easily, the welcome feeling of heat blossoming around his hands against the chill. He stared down at his affiancéd, who could not or would not look up at him._

_ "Elsa, get up…"_

_ It was as if she hadn't heard him. A thin line of fear was snaking across the inside of his chest. "Elsa—you have to get up," he pleaded, dropping to a knee beside her, but she continued to weep into her hands. "Please. Please, get up, just try to stand, you have to…"_

_ The weeping, soft, little shaking gasps, persisted. "Please don't make me do this," he begged. "You have to get up, Elsa, please! I don't want to do this!"_

_ He tried to reach out but found that he couldn't touch her, his hand moving naturally through the space she occupied. He rose to his feet, tears rolling down his face. He knew, as if he'd always known, what he would have to do. Like it had been written by fate—predetermined long ago._

_ He raised the sword and in one, sweeping arch, cleaved the head from her shoulders._

* * *

Hans lurched upwards, the realization that it had been a nightmare granting only marginal relief. Clawing for the burnt-out candle, he collapsed off the bed into a kneel and, like a schoolboy saying his prayers, buried his face in the silk sheets as the gasping breaths overtook him. He wasn't crying—he'd long ago cried out any tears he had to shed over the memory—but the shock of being so abruptly back in that godforsaken moment never failed to deliver a jolt to his system. Heat seemed to brim on every pore and nerve-ending, and Hans forced himself to take slow breaths, inhaling the scent of clean soap and outdoor air from the sheets.

Eventually his heartbeat slowed again and he was able to collapse backwards onto the floor, propping himself up with his hands. He looked up at the ceiling, shaking.

_I can't go back._

The words rang in his ears like a gunshot. There was no need to repeat them or mull them over in his mind; they'd spoken like the word of God and had to be obeyed.

Methodically, as if he'd already planned it, Hans stood up, dressed, and opened the window. Slinging one leg over the edge, he looked out at the harbor as the rain-laced wind struck him in the face. The nightmare had been like a cold bucket of water dumped over his head, washing away the feverish calculations of ships and men and loyalties negotiated. He needed to speak to someone, someone who'd known just how far down into the blackness he'd gone and how hard he'd fought to climb back out. Someone who knew how much he had to lose.

* * *

The streets were empty and cold with the drizzling rain; it misted finely on the outer layer of the overcoat, and he kept his head down as he passed by the few stragglers, staying out of the small halos of yellow light from the burning street lamps. Nobody bothered him, and he moved quickly through the city, until he found himself outside the address. He checked the number of the house; he'd never been here before, although he'd imagined it thousands of times in those dark days in the cell.

When he was certain it was correct, he knocked on the door, quieter at first and then louder. He heard the sound of footsteps on the other end and suddenly felt nervous, as if he should run away like a guilty child.

Before he could do anything, the door opened, and he found himself looking up into the face of a tall, broad-shouldered man—the sort of face you might find in any army or guard force anywhere in the world.

"I-I'm sorry about the hour," he stammered, and found that any political cunning he's been employing for the last several days had abruptly deserted him. The guard peered back at him. "But I needed to talk to you and I– there wasn't any other time–"

"You don't need to explain yourself to me, your Highness." Relief flooded him. Bertram's voice was as warm and reassuring as he'd remembered, and he was opening the door wide. "Come in, you'll catch your death of cold out there…"

Hans stepped inside awkwardly, undoing the buttons of his coat; he was in a kitchen, and could see a light in the next room, where a fire could be heard crackling. He could hear movement, and Bertram replied to his unstated question: "My wife, Hulda."

"Your wife is still up?" He blushed suddenly as ideas occurred to him. "I hope I haven't interrupted anything…"

"We were only talking—about the war, you know."

"Oh. I see."

A silhouette appeared in the doorway and then drew closer; Hans saw as his eyes adjusted that it was a fair-haired woman in an apron, about middle-aged. "Bertram? Who is it at this hour?"

Hans took off his hat. "I beg your pardon for the intrusion, madame; I'm, ah, Prince Johan–"

He heard the expected gasp and saw her curtsy, and waved a hand. "Please, don't. I owe your husband my life; nobody in this house ever needs to bow to me." She rose from the curtsy, still looking mortified to have a prince in her kitchen. "I apologize for the interruption, but I needed to, ah, I needed to talk to…" He suddenly felt very silly. What had he been hoping to gain from talking to Bertram, anyway?

But Hulda didn't seem to mind. "I'll put the tea on," she murmured quickly, fretting about the kitchen. Both men stood there awkwardly until she'd finished, and then she kissed her husband on the cheek. "I'll wait in the other room."

She lit the candle on the table and left, closing the door behind her. Bertram gestured to the kitchen chair. "Please, sit."

"Thank you."

They sat down. Hans looked across the table at the man. It was strange to be here, he thought, here, in this place he'd imagined his old guard and the man's family in so many times, and of course it looked nothing like he'd supposed. He was afraid, suddenly, of being disappointed. Had he, in his near-insane state, put his guard on a pedestal all those years ago? It would be understandable; after being locked in a tiny room for almost a year with hardly any human contact, by the time Bertram had been assigned as his jailor the prince's mind had been unravelling like a cheap rug. Before befriending Elsa and the others, Bertram had been the only person in the world to show him any human kindness after the death of his mother. Those conditions could make a hero-worshiper out of anyone.

"Are you alright, your Highness?"

"Hans. Please." Bertram nodded, and the young man clutched the steaming cup Hulda had poured for him. "I'm…I don't know what to do."

"About?"

"The war. Queen Elsa. All of it." The tea smelled fresh—peppermint. He wondered if Hulda and Bertram grew their own. "I don't—I'm afraid of what they'll ask me to do."

He heard how childish it sounded, but at least, he thought, it was honest. He'd made vows, in that prison cell. He didn't want to break them. He didn't want to be that man again.

"So am I," Bertram admitted. "Although I daresay you have more reason to worry than I do." _That's right, _the prince realized. Bertram was a royal guardsman; no doubt he would be one of the first conscripted. "Is it true?" his once-jailor asked quietly.

The prince hesitated, and then tugged off his gloves. A little flame like a candle appeared in his palm. Bertram sucked in a breath.

With a leaping arc like a fish breaking through water, the flame jumped from his hand and plopped onto the candle wick, where it continued to burn as cheerfully and mundanely as if it had been lit by a match. Hans shrugged and pulled the glove back on.

"Magic," Bertram murmured.

"Miracle." Hans looked up. "Both, at the same time."

"God in Heaven…"

"That's the general idea, yes."

Bertram shook his head. "...All that time?"

"As far as I can tell, since I was a child."

His former jailer looked thoughtful. "You know, I never knew why exactly your first guard was dismissed. None of us ever heard from him again. We were told he was sent on a 'long vacation.'"

Hans had long considered this, and so the news did not shock him. "Do you think I killed him without remembering it?" he asked lowly. Bertram shrugged.

"Hard to say. Me, I doubt it. Didn't see any scorch marks in your cell like you'd expect from a fire that big; maybe they just bought him off and sent him out of the country, somewhere he couldn't tell anyone what he'd seen."

"I suppose…"

"They say you've come back to help us win the war." He could feel Bertram's eyes searching his face.

"Do they," he murmured.

"But clearly, you're having doubts."

Hans looked up. "Bertram, I went through hell on earth in that cell. I won't put myself back there again—even metaphorically. If I'm going to do this, I need to be _absolutely sure_ it's the right thing to do."

The guard thought this over, and then nodded. "I can understand that."

"I want to help. Believe me, I do. But if it comes to it, I don't think Agnar is able to restrain himself to asking me to use this in a limited capacity. Setting fire to a battlefield is one thing, and even that's distasteful; I don't want to be asked to burn down a kingdom."

"You could turn him down, if the moment comes. You might be the one man in the world who can get away with defying orders from a superior officer."

Hans smiled grimly. "I'm powerful, not invincible. A firing squad can do me in just as easily as it can you. And for that matter, so could a Teutonian sharpshooter," he added under his breath.

"Then what do you intend to do?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe try to negotiate with Agnar, see if he can be trusted with the weapon I am. There might be a way to draft up a contract of some sort…"

"And your Queen?"

Hans shook his head, watching the candlelight flicker and sway. "I don't know. I'll just have to hope she forgives me. Again."

There was a long silence. Then Bertram let out a deep sigh through his nose. "Your Highness. Hans." The young man looked at him again. "I have been a guard for a long time, and a soldier before that. I fought in your father's army against Arendelle."

"Really? I didn't think you were old enough."

Bertram smiled. "I lied about my age to the officers." Then his smile faded. "The Isles are a peninsular nation. We're vulnerable to a naval attack."

"Which Corona will be sending."

"Yes. But we're vulnerable also to a land front. You can't be everywhere at once. You know that." He fixed the prince with a firm gaze. "You know you can't help us win this war. Not without doing something no man should ever do."

Hans opened his mouth but found that the words wouldn't come out right away. "...I-I can't just abandon my countrymen to fight without me."

"Whether you fight at land or at sea, we'll lose the duchies from the other angle. You could burn the whole Coronian fleet for your brother and it wouldn't make a difference. How could your countrymen rightly ask that of you?"

"I could dissuade the League with threats–"

"–Threats of destroying a whole army, of men no different than us. Or worse, a kingdom. Of killing innocent men, women, possibly children—indiscriminately. What if the League doesn't blink?" Hans looked away. "You cannot use this power limitedly if it is to have any real effect in this war. And you cannot use it to its full capacity and remain a good man."

"So what should I do?"

There was a noise at the door, and he looked up to see Bertram's golden-haired wife. Bertram smiled at her and held out his hands, and she approached to stand behind his chair, taking them. The guard looked back at his former prisoner.

"Go home, Prince Hans. Go back to your family. At the very least, you should be making this decision with your lady queen. _Together."_

* * *

It was always harder sneaking back into the castle than out of it; climbing the ivy and pulling himself up the window gables always took real physical effort, and as it had been raining Hans was more careful than normal. Which was why when he finally pulled himself back into his room, huffing and panting, he didn't immediately notice the figure in the dark. It wasn't until he'd rushed to his suitcase and undone the latches that a voice spoke from the corner:

"Hans."

He jumped. Agnar rose from where he'd been sitting at the desk. For a long, long moment, neither spoke.

At last, Hans broke the silence. "Are you going to try to detain me?"

Agnar stepped forward, as if to approach him, and Hans instinctively took a step back. The king stopped. The prince saw his head turn to the window, still-open. The sounds of the city drifted in on the wind, of the countless individual lives which comprised their kingdom, and the prince knew his king was weighing something in his mind.

"The dock officials are searching every ship arriving from or leaving to Arendelle, or any League-allied state."

Hans stared.

"But…they are not searching the trade ships leaving for the Eastern Mountains." Agnar appeared to deflate, and the prince realized once again how very old and tired his brother seemed. "...They announced their neutrality today. We received the telegram an hour ago."

He walked past his brother to the door. Hans wanted to thank him, but was smart enough to catch the words in his mouth. At the door, the king paused, but did not look back.

"I will see you at breakfast tomorrow, brother."

He left. The door clicked shut quietly behind him. Hans stood a long moment alone in the silence, and then quietly packed the rest of his suitcase, and left through the open window.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

**The description of the Teutonian Castle is a combination of Sleeping Beauty's castle in Disneyland and in the movie, Neuschwanstein Castle in Schwangau, Germany (whose exterior inspired Sleeping Beauty's castle), and the chapel of Königsburg Castle (formerly in German lands, now part of Russia), where Kaiser Wilhelm I was crowned. The description of the Royal Castle of the Eastern Mountains is based on Gripsholm Castle in Mariefred, Sweden.**

**WARNINGS: the nightmare vision at the end is somewhat graphic; I tried to tone it down as much as I could, but there's only so much "toning down" that can be done when your references are Pompeii and the atomic bombings.**

* * *

"Anything on him?"

"Just this, sir."

The prince watched tersely as the guard handed his sword over to the Eastern Mountains port official. The man inspected it, studying the scabbard and the hilt, and then looked up.

"Why no firearm, _Southerner?"_

Hans shot a hasty glance around at the veritable forest of pistols and rifles locked on his person; however powerful he was—and that was, as yet, an unknown entity—a bullet was _faster_. "Arendelle doesn't let foreigners carry firearms in its borders, sir. Even the Royal Guard prefers crossbows."

"Yes," the port official said shortly, handing the sword off to a waiting subordinate, "but you're not coming from Arendelle, are you? You're coming from the Southern _Isles, _as a stowaway, unannounced. I suggest you explain why."

In hindsight, fleeing to the Eastern Mountains might not have been the best idea. After several centuries of small wars waged back and forth over various conquests, the Southern Isles and the Eastern Mountains were "not exactly _simpatico," _as Eugene Fitzherbert would have put it. "I–"

"Sir!" One of the younger guardsmen was pointing nervously to the floating sparks that had begun to accumulate in the air. The rifle barrels seemed to inch closer.

"Answer the question, your Highness," the port official snapped. "And keep your hands up nice and high!"

Hans took a deep breath, lifting his hands another several inches higher in the air. "They're up, and they're gloved. Gentlemen, can't we–"

"No, we _can't."_ A barrel hit the place between his spine and the back of his ribs, and he had to fight to keep the panic from spilling out of his chest, through his hands and into the open air in the form of incriminating flame. "Now _talk."_

"I came from the Southern Isles, yes; I just escaped." An idea occurred to him. "They were asking me to fight in the war, but I wasn't interested. So I ran for it."

There was a stir among the guns, or at least the hands holding them. The port official studied him with a sudden squint. "You're supporting the League?"

Hans chose his next words with the utmost care. "I just want to return home to Arendelle."

"So why not go there directly?"

"The ships were being searched. I had to go somewhere less conspicuous; the Eastern Mountains were the best alternative." A long silence. That was good; at least it wasn't gunfire. "Take me to the king," Hans pleaded. "Take me anywhere you want! Interrogate me if you need to!"

After what seemed an eternity of hesitation, the port official nodded.

"Alright, Southerner. But hear me loud and clear: the moment you try anything funny, we'll show you the real meaning of _firepower."_

It was a terrible pun. Hans swallowed his pride and forced a weak smile. "Understood."

The port official did not smile back.

* * *

"Anna, are you sure you want to go? I won't be insulted if you want to stay behind…"

The princess hopped back onto her suitcase so that the top thumped shut despite its overstuffed contents, and she snapped the latches closed. "Don't be silly, of course I'm going. Especially since we're passing through Corona and all."

The Queen was ringing her hands. "But the stress, and your pregnancy–"

"It's not like I'd be any less stressed here. Besides, I'm not that far along yet."

"But I'm worried about you and the baby–"

"Elsa," Anna said firmly, standing up, "I'm fine. I'm made of stronger stuff than I look." She plopped the suitcase down beside the chair and dusted off her hands. "Sheesh, the way you worry sometimes I think you've started reading those dumb pregnancy books."

"Oh, now, that's just mean."

_"A woman should wear a maternity corset to hide her condition as long as possible!" _Anna imitated in a gruff masculine voice. Elsa chuckled. _"For the last three months of your pregnancy, you must not leave the house! Sour foods make the baby crabby! Women don't like sex!"_

Elsa couldn't restrain a burst of laughter at that one. "Anna!"

"What?"

The queen tugged one of her sister's braids affectionately as she passed by, folding one of her own dresses into her suitcase. "Do you talk to Kristoff with that dirty mouth?"

"About sex? All the time. Morning, afternoon, _night…"_ Elsa coughed. "Why, don't you and Hans?" Anna waggled her eyebrows.

"Hans and I are…more discreet," Elsa chuckled. "In our conversations!" she added hastily when she saw Anna begin to snicker. She folded the skirt up along the torso of the second dress and tucked it neatly into her suitcase, and then fell quiet as her good humor faded.

"Hey." She looked over as Anna touched her elbow. "He'll come back," the younger sister insisted.

"I hope so…"

"C'mon, he's not stupid. He loves you, and honestly, he loves Arendelle too. He just served three years in our navy to get the people to like him again; he's not gonna throw away all that hard work."

"He might not have a choice," Elsa sighed. "He's still a citizen of the Isles, and the situation there is growing more desperate by the day."

Anna bit her lip, watching her sister's anxious expression, and then squeezed her elbow. "Just...try not to dwell on it, alright?" she advised kindly. "Your worrying won't change anything."

Elsa's face relaxed, just a bit. "Thank you, Anna."

"Besides, you're frosting the carpet."

"What? Oh." She waved her hand absently, vanishing the hoary spirals that had scattered across the floor like white ferns. "Sorry."

There was a knock at the door and both looked over. "That's Kristoff's knock. Come in!" Anna called over her shoulder.

The crown prince entered, and the queen gave him a nod. "Are you ready? You have everything you need?"

"Yup. All of your paperwork's been moved to my desk, and the princes are being detained down in the dungeons."

"You gave them a full explanation? They're comfortable and being provided with all the material necessities? Photographed and with Master Fredriksen and the _Herald _present?" Kristoff nodded. "Good," Elsa sighed, folding a white kerchief into a little square and tucking it into the side-pocket of her suitcase. "The last thing we need is some ridiculous claim that we've ill-treated foreign prisoners of war."

"You'll be okay, won't you, Kristoff?" Anna asked, taking his hand. "We'll only be gone a week."

"I'll be fine; me an' the council can hold down the fort here until you guys get back."

Anna patted his shoulder, and then paused, an odd expression crossing her face. Kristoff immediately stepped aside as the princess turned pale and rushed from the dressing room into the adjoined lavatory. Elsa winced sympathetically as she heard the sounds of retching. "I thought her morning sickness was getting better?" she asked Kristoff.

"It is, just not quite through yet–" Anna coughed out his name, and he gave the queen a half-salute and hurried in after her. Elsa decided it was best to leave them be, tucking the last few things into her bag and then leaving to wander the castle alone.

Predictably, she ended up in the library. She took a moment to marvel at her clear desk, and feel bad for Kristoff, before remembering why she'd thought to go to the library in the first place. She scanned through the books in the philosophy section until she found the translation of Averroes's commentary and tucked it under her arm, wondering if she should bring something else along. _Hans did ask me to look over his draft of The Nightengale…_ A pang struck her chest and she dismissed the idea. Anna was right; thinking of Hans, _worrying_ about him would be too distracting. She had to put him out of her mind for the time being, at least until she returned from Cölln-Bärlin.

"–We could read _Snow-White _or _The Ugly Duckling _or anything you like! You know, _I _drew all the pictures for the Ugly Duckling _myself!"_

The queen turned with a smile. Waddling through the library door was none other than her first and eldest creation, and beside him a translucent, almost ghostly being made entirely of flame. Ovn hovered gently beside the snowman, casting her faint radiance over the floor, as Olaf babbled on about the different stories the library held. Elsa watched them silently for a long moment, her smile growing almost melancholy, though she wasn't sure why.

"I'm worried about Uncle." Ovn's flame flickered red and pale blue before returning to gold. "He said you'd all take care of me, but that sounds like something's going to happen to him."

"I'm sure it'll all be fine," Olaf said, patting her "shoulder" and then blowing out his hand as the twig started on fire. "Trust me! I'm older, I know these things."

"Queen Elsa!" The little fire-creation suddenly seemed to notice the human in the room and let out a gasp. She skipped over to her, curtsying, Olaf in tow. Elsa smiled and curtsied back.

"Hello, Ovn, Olaf."

"Queen Elsa, where's Uncle gone? Are you and Princess Anna going there too?"

"Hans has…gone to visit his brother in the Southern Isles," Elsa explained hesitantly. "And Anna and I are going to Cölln-Bärlin to speak with the Kaiser and Chancellor von Eisen."

"Why?"

"Because he wants me to help him win a war."

"Ohh," Olaf and Ovn said at the same time. "I got you," Olaf said with an intelligent nod. "A war." He paused. "What's a war?"

_Oh boy._ "War is...when thousands of people kill each other, to get—or keep—what they want."

Olaf and Ovn stared at her. She wondered if this was even a possibility they could comprehend.

"Why would anyone do that?"

"I…" She knelt down next to them. You couldn't explain war to a child, and that was what they essentially were, children: perpetual children stuck in a world of monstrous adults. "I don't know, Olaf. Sometimes people get scared. Other times they get greedy."

"You mean like when Hans tried to kill you and Anna to become king."

She stared. "...Yes. Just like that."

They were innocent, the queen thought, small and innocent. But they heralded a terrifying reality. What Hans had told her about Ovn's creation was evidence of that enough. Attempting to create a fire golem like her own Marshmallow, he had, as near as Elsa could tell, allowed his subconscious to take control and formed instead what he in childhood had perceived to be a protector: a warm and nurturing, and _female,_ defender. Now, however, with significantly more practice...he, like her, could conceivably raise up an army of unheard-of force and proportions. Elsa wasn't sure how much independent life she, or Hans, could create; whether there was a limit or not, she didn't want to test it.

"But Uncle isn't going to be killed, is he?" Ovn pressed, her flame wavering nervously, as if in a strong wind. "He'll come back, won't he?"

"Of course he will!" Olaf said cheerily before the queen could reply. "Trust me, things always work out in the end." He turned to his maker with wide, trusting eyes. "Right, Elsa?"

* * *

The sisters arrived in Corona two days later, shortly after sundown. The waves of the North Sea lapped gently against the hull of the boat as the sisters were escorted off the ship by their retinue, which consisted of the boat's crew and four Arendellian royal guards for protection.

Eugene and Rapunzel were waiting for them in a guarded carriage at the end of the dock. The Arendellian guardsman joined the troop walking outside as the sisters climbed in. The door shut, and there was a beat of silence as the carriage began to move.

Then, Elsa sighed, looking at her cousins. "Please don't be angry with us." Rapunzel wasn't meeting her eyes. "You know we don't have a choice–"

"You have every choice," the princess said bitterly.

"Blondie–"

"How can you abandon us like this?" Rapunzel looked up, green eyes glittering with tears.

"We're not abandoning you; you have the whole of the League behind you–"

"On land, yes, but you know our navy is the one going to war!"

"You and the Southern Isles are both our allies; we can't just break treaties. You _know_ that."

"You mean you don't want to be sent to fight personally! You're willing to let our people die when you could stop the war before it starts!"

"Alright, Blondie, you know that's not fair," Eugene interjected. She turned her glare on him. "How'd you like it if she came demanding you help her with your magic in Arendelle's wars, huh?"

"I'd say _yes! _I'd use my magic to _help _our allies and our _family!"_

"Your magic doesn't _kill_ people," Elsa said coldly.

Silence fell again. Elsa looked out the window, her hands twisting nervously in her lap and an angry stinging in her eyes.

"So. You're going to remain neutral, then? There's no convincing you otherwise?" Eugene asked from the other seat. Elsa nodded.

"We'll deliver the news personally in Cölln-Bärlin."

Rapunzel didn't speak to them again until they reached the palace. Queen Ariana was waiting for them in the king's study. She rose as the Arendellian monarch and princess entered; Elsa bowed her head and Anna, the ranking subordinate, quickly gave a clumsy curtsy.

"Your Majesty."

"Anna. Elsa. Welcome back; we're always pleased to have you," Ariana said gently, returning the bow. Elsa raised her gaze to eye-level as a guilty blush bloomed over her cheeks. "Has Arendelle made a decision?"

"Nearly. I'll need to speak to the Chancellor first…"

"But you are inclined towards neutrality."

Esla nodded, biting her lip. Ariana smiled sadly, and suddenly the Arendellian queen felt the need to absolve those around her of their guilt-by-association. "Please understand, this was my decision alone. Anna—she went to every length to press her case for you, don't be angry with her–"

"Corona understands. And we thank you."

The young queen heard her cousin let out a faint gasp behind her. "Thank me?" she repeated. "Why?"

"We understand the position you are in, caught between two allies. You have chosen to remain neutral rather than side with the Isles against us. For that we are grateful."

_"Mother–"_

"Peace, Rapunzel. The Queen must make her own decision." Ariana gestured elegantly to the door. "Please, join us for dinner. You are, as ever, our welcome guests."

They were escorted to the dining room once again, where supper had just been set out despite the late hour. There was a salad of a leafy green plant the Arendellians didn't recognize, savory hazelnut soup and _sauerbraten_ for the main course. "Frederick does apologize for his absence," Ariana said graciously, pulling out Elsa's chair, "but a difficulty with the war preparations came up and he had to attend to it personally."

"Please, don't apologize." Now that the confession that had been sitting queasily in her stomach was out, Elsa's nervousness had returned, and she found herself reverting behind a wall of formality. "It's kind of you to host us."

"A carriage has been arranged to carry you to Bremmerburg tomorrow, where you can board the train to Teutonia."

"Claret, your Majesty?" a servant asked, holding out the decanter.

"No, just water. Thank you, that's fine." The servant stopped pouring about halfway, and the queen waved her hand, creating two large ice chips in the glass. It helped cool her nerves somewhat.

Thankfully, Anna carried the conversation, diverting Rapunzel with questions about parenting and motherhood. Eugene, with an expression of embarrassment, did his best to make smalltalk with the foreign queen, and Elsa felt herself relaxing somewhat; the prince was as charming as ever, and knew how to set people at ease. He reminded her a little of Hans, though far more laid-back and less political by nature. It wasn't until she brought up the war itself that his good-natured expression fell, and he shot a surreptitious glance at his wife.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about that. Blondie's scared half to death."

"Oh…Yes, I-I suppose that makes sense…"

"Anyway." He flashed his trademark grin. "How's the engagement going? Started planning the ceremony yet?"

"Ah…actually, no…" She quietly explained the situation, and he sobered.

"Damn. I'm sorry to hear that, you guys make a good couple."

"Oh?" She felt her cheeks heat as she bit back a smile. "You think so?"

"Hah! Listen, snowdrop, I know love when I see it." He winked. "I remember you two going twelve rounds over the mulled wine two Christmases ago. I think you called him a _flaming conservative, _if I remember right. Tried to rope me into the argument as the 'born commoner,' arguing the merits of democracy. _As a monarch."_

"Oh, Heavens," she laughed, touching a hand to her head to quell the phantom hangover. "Eugene, I'm still so terribly sorry; I don't think I've ever been that drunk in my life…"

"He was steaming mad. _Literally. _Went off and sulked in the library for half an hour reading his precious Plato before he came back to kiss and make up. I knew then you two were meant for each other."

She gave him a slightly sardonic smile. "You know I don't believe in soulmates."

"Maybe not," Eugene said, taking a drink from his claret, "but you're a practical kinda lady. I think you should do the practical thing and lock that down, before some other pretty queen starts making designs on him."

"Is that so?"

"Listen, Elsa," he said seriously, putting the glass down, "people like him come along once, maybe twice a century. Your great-grandfather was one. So's the Chancellor. People like that, they can build empires with their own two hands—or tear them down. Take it from an ex-thief: you don't just leave valuable assets like that lying around. Read me?"

"...I suppose so."

"Good. Because I want that man as an ally, not an enemy." His face brightened as they returned to a lighter level of the conversation. "Anyhow, you'll have to tell us about Cölln-Bärlin when you come back. Never been myself; guess I probably will now someday, seeing as we're in the League…"

Dinner was over in less than an hour, as the sisters were still weary from the journey. Eugene and Rapunzel offered to show them to their guest room. As they moved into the hallway Elsa hovered at the back of the group, reluctant to try to engage her cousin in conversation. As they were about to leave, a hand touched her elbow, and she turned.

It was her aunt. "May I request a word with you in private?" said Queen Ariana quietly, such that the rest of the group did not notice.

Feeling it would be impolite to refuse, Elsa followed the Coronian queen back to the study. A fire had been lit in the hearth, the yellow flames flickering merrily over the logs and dropping cherry-red coals into the grate. As Ariana closed the door, Elsa took the opportunity to examine the room. Hung on the left-side wall was a map of the city and a large table bearing a diorama of the same. To the right, in front of the fireplace, was the queen's desk. The king's sat against the far wall in front of the large window, beyond which could be seen the harbor and the glittering stars.

"Please, take a seat."

Queen Ariana was gesturing towards the visitor's chair in front of her desk. Elsa obliged. "Might I offer you a cup of tea?"

"Thank you…"

Rather than calling for a servant, Queen Ariana set to the task herself, setting the kettle to boil over the fire. Elsa folded her hands guiltily in her lap as the Coronian monarch sat down.

"Your Majesty, please, I must request you stop avoiding my eyes. You're not a child in need of scolding."

"I'm afraid I've done you a great disservice stopping here," Elsa apologized. Ariana smiled and shook her head. "Imposing on you like this after turning our backs on you…"

"You haven't turned your backs on us. Besides, how else were you to reach Cölln-Bärlin?"

Elsa grimaced. "You deserve an explanation. It isn't that I don't trust Corona, but–"

But Ariana held up a hand. "Whatever Rapunzel may have said, Frederick and I were never expecting you to use your magic on Corona's behalf."

Elsa felt a rush of relief. "You weren't?"

"You are loathe to put your power into the hands of the League. I think you have made the wiser choice."

"To the wrong ears, your Majesty, that could sound treasonous," Elsa pointed out.

"Queen Elsa, I have some experience with magic, as you well know." Her niece nodded. "It is a powerful and beautiful thing, but it can also be _dangerous_. You and my daughter have in some respects lived similar lives, but whereas she was taught to love her magic, you were taught to fear yours. Perhaps either was alone was incomplete," the queen sighed. "But as it stands, your magic is more powerful than hers, and your appreciation of its magnitude is more accurate."

"She's not entirely to blame. After all, hers doesn't harm people."

Ariana smiled tiredly. "You are kind to say so. But power over life can be as harmful in the wrong hands as power over death. My daughter is a goodhearted soul, but she has a great deal to learn before she becomes Queen."

Elsa inclined her head. The teapot began to steam; Ariana stood, removed it from the fire and poured them both a cup. Elsa thanked her and stirred in the proffered cream and sugar.

"I can't help but feel that Rapunzel is right," the blonde admitted as Ariana took her seat again. "I could end this war before it starts, but instead I'm remaining on the sideline—like a coward."

But Ariana shook her head. "A ruler who does not mind her own integrity first cannot rule her kingdom with integrity. Wars are ugly and confusing affairs, my dear; it is easy even for the justified party to commit unjustifiable actions." Elsa conceded with another nod. "A compromise of morals may seem like a good idea in the moment, but it sets a precedent ever after, for both yourself and those who follow after you. From a corrupted king comes a corrupted kingdom; a ruler with your power above all must never allow even the suggestion of tyranny to tarnish your rule."

The older woman's expression was compassionate yet wise, so much like her late sister's, and for a moment Elsa felt as if she were a girl again, being comforted by her own mother. "You are a wise and capable queen, and are making the right choice," Ariana reassured her. "Idunn would have been proud of you."

"Would she?" Elsa asked desperately, searching her aunt's face.

"She admired and believed in you even when you were a child, my dear. Oh, the letters she wrote me…she often told me she wished she had your bravery."

"I never felt brave," Elsa confessed, and Ariana gave a musical laugh.

"Dear, no queen ever does."

They shared a smile, and then Elsa took the opportunity to drink some of her tea. It was hot and sweet, and soothed her nerves. "Please, forgive Rapunzel," Ariana said, as she lowered her cup. "She's frightened for Frederick and her husband…"

"Aren't you?"

"Of course. But Frederick and I have long known the day may come when one of us may have to rule without the other." She nodded to the queen's gloved hands. "I hear you are engaged."

But Elsa shook her head and removed the left glove. The absent ring was obvious, and Ariana let out a soft, "Ahh…"

"We broke off the engagement before he went home to the Isles. We couldn't…we needed to consider our loyalties independent of one another."

"I see. Well…that is certainly an admirably brave decision." Elsa gave a single, miserable nod. "However…I cannot help but think it may have been better for the two of you to have faced this together."

"Your son-in-law said the same thing."

The queen gestured to her husband's empty desk. "Ruling a kingdom is difficult work, my dear niece. It's a weighty task to manage on one's own; I don't know what I would have done without Frederick all these years. And in a time of war…well, as they say, a house divided cannot stand."

Elsa didn't reply. The cuckoo-clock broke the quiet by chiming the hour, and the elder queen stood. "And now I believe it is time we both got some rest. You have a long journey tomorrow."

"Yes…thank you…"

Ariana showed her the way to the royal guest bedroom and then bade her goodnight. Elsa slipped inside and locked the door; Anna was already asleep on her bed, lying on her side with a hand draped protectively over her growing baby bump. Elsa changed into her night dress and then curled up in the guest bed, looking out the window. The stars winked back at her, lonely and cold in the distant dark blue.

_Your mother would have been proud of you, _a soft voice whispered in her mind, and with that comforting sentiment to lull her, she drifted off to sleep beneath the stars.

* * *

The Coronian royal family saw them off the next morning. Hugs were exchanged between the king and queen and their nieces, and Eugene shook their hands. Rapunzel gave Anna a fervent embrace and a few departing morning-sickness tips (Anna had awoken Elsa early that morning losing half her dinner to the lavatory), before she approached the queen.

After a moment's hesitance, they hugged one another as family. "I'm sorry," Rapunzel mumbled into her ear, and then pulled back. "I was just scared. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"It's forgiven. Don't worry about it."

Rapunzel smiled at her awkwardly. "Have fun in Cölln-Bärlin. Both of you! And tell us about it when you come back."

"We will! We promise!" Anna vowed eagerly, clambering into the carriage. They waved them off, and then the carriage pulled out of the courtyard and down the hill.

They reached Bremmerburg late that evening and stayed the night with the ancient Bremmerburger duke, whose son Elsa had learned really ran everything and who was currently in Cölln-Bärlin himself to make preparations for the war effort. The next morning, bright and early, they boarded the train with their retinue. Neither of them had ever been on a locomotive before, and Elsa stood a long moment on the platform as the steam hissed around them in the sunlight like clouds of white woodsmoke, gaping open-mouthed at the iron behemoth with its enormous carriage-wheels and its round barrel body.

Anna was ecstatic. "I've heard they can go faster than a horse at full gallop, all day and night without stopping!" she exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet even with the added weight of her unborn child and two suitcases. The Bremmerburger cityfolk were staring at them with open surprise, seeing the young Scandinavian women and four foreign soldiers stolidly standing guard around them.

"Anna, try to act presentable," Elsa mumbled, though without much sting. She was still gobsmacked at the machine herself. The steam from the locomotive was turning into snow as it got too close to her, causing some of the Bremmerburgers to start pointing and whispering.

They were escorted into a private carriage with three compartments: one for her and Anna, and two more for their guards. Anna shoved her two suitcases up onto the rack as they entered and eyed Elsa's lone case enviously. "A whole extra suitcase for _one_ dress," she groused. "And it's heavier than the other dresses combined!"

Elsa hummed. "I think that's why we were being stared at on the platform. I don't think they knew we were royalty with how we were dressed…" It was a fair assumption: Anna was, per usual, in the Arendellian peasant garb she wore whenever she didn't have to be at a council meeting, and the queen had donned a business dress and jacket. "But we _do _have to have proper gowns for the farewell dinner."

"It's not fair. You _cheat."_

The queen turned around with a grin, raising her hands. "Oh? You know, sister mine, if you _wanted_ an ice gown you could have just _asked–"_

Anna yelped and skittered back as Elsa laughed. "Nope! No! I'm good! Thanks!"

The train rumbled along over the rails. Anna had been right; by the time it had picked up speed, Elsa guessed it was going consistently the pace of a strong gallop, skimming over rivers and farmland. With the iron locomotive now in motion, the carriage soon grew hot, until even Anna was beginning to wilt. "Listen, can we open the window or something? I'm boiling over here."

"Oh thank goodness," Elsa sighed. "I thought it was just me." The queen waved her fingers and sent a winter breeze chasing around the walls of the compartment. Anna beamed at her.

"Thanks."

"No trouble." She opened her suitcase and took out the little book she'd placed with care over the folded woolen dresses. "Speaking of clothing, do you think we've packed enough?"

"Yeah? Why wouldn't we have? We're only there for a few days."

"I don't know—you've seen how these continental princesses dress."

Anna shrugged. "So? I'd rather rewear something than have to bring along a whole team of servants. Besides, if we need something we can just buy it in Cölln-Bärlin."

"Mm…"

The journey wore on. As Anna cracked open her romance novel and curled up on the bench, Elsa opened the philosophical text. The first page, bordered by printed arabesques of interlacing ferns and flowers, bore the following inscription:

—_Averroes's Comentary on Plato's Politeia—_

_Translation into Arendellian accomplished by_

_Hikmat al-Amin,_

_Professor of Northern European Studies_

_At the Great Library of Agrabah._

Beneath this was written the same in Agrabic, with its artistic script of loops and dots. She traced over the printed words with her finger. Generations of scholars and philosophers, for hundreds of years, had preserved this text in the great libraries and mosques of the world; generations more, for over two millennia, had translated and proliferated the _Republic, _in hundreds of languages, to allow the leaders and great thinkers of the world to ponder the all-important question of how the just society was constructed.

_I owe it to them, _she thought as she remembered Queen Ariana's warning, eyes fixed on the name of the translator who had worked so diligently to put this book in her hands. _I owe it to all of them to get this right._

* * *

The train rattled across fields and farmland, heaths and through the occasional small wood before back out onto the rolling plains. At times they passed through a village or town, where women in colorful peasant dresses and men in feathered hats went about their work against a scenery of houses and shops so picturesque they could have been out of a children's book. Anna spent a good deal of the afternoon varying between watching out the window and reading her novel; Elsa worked her way diligently through the _Commentary _until Anna grew bored and begged her to make something with her magic. Elsa put the book aside, thought a moment, and then waved her fingers.

A miniature ice figurine of a beautiful medieval castle, complete with barbican walls, portcullis and spired turrets appeared in her hands. The towers were tinged a faint rose, while the tower roofs, some conical and some square-pyramidic, were a deep crystal blue. Anna gasped in delight and accepted it. "Where's this from?" she asked, peering at the replica.

"That," said Elsa, "is the castle at Cölln-Bärlin. That's where the Kaiser lives."

"The castle of the Hundred Years' Sleep."

"Mm. That's where we'll be staying, I believe."

Anna nodded thoughtfully. "You know I used to love that story. And _Little Ashputtle…"_ She hummed something to herself. "I daydreamed for hours about the day my prince would come for me." Elsa hummed her agreement again, and the princess quirked an eyebrow at her. "You know, they say King Philip I had hair as red as a copper coin."

"Yes, I know," Elsa said dryly. "Which couldn't _possibly_ have had anything to do with your falling head-over-heels for the first handsome redheaded prince you saw." Anna shrugged. "What do you think Cölln-Bärlin will be like?"

"Who knows? I know it's bigger than our capital. Don't, like, half a million people live there or something?"

"550,000. It's been growing exponentially for the last few decades." Anna whistled. "A truly modern city."

"I'll say…"

The day wore on. The train stopped to pick up more passengers in Ulferflusse and then again in Brunesguik, although none entered their private carriage. Outside, people were gathering on the busy platforms now to point and stare. Elsa peeked her head out of their compartment and gave one of the soldiers a few marks to go buy a copy of the evening paper. When they opened it, there was an interesting headline:

**EXTRA! EXTRA!**

"**ICE QUEEN" OF ARENDELLE AND SISTER ARRIVE IN BREMMERBURG FOR LEAGUE VISIT!**

Elsa read aloud: "_This morning in the City of Bremmerburg, Queen Elsa Marie Andersen of Arendelle, famous for her powerful magical command over ice and snow, and her retinue, including Arendelle's ambassador to Corona, Princess Anna, were spotted boarding the eastbound train for Cölln-Bärlin."_

"That was just this morning…how did they get the word out so fast?"

Elsa shook her head, awed. "Telegrams, I expect. Someone informed a reporter, a telegram was sent and a story typed up over the course of the afternoon."

"All in one day? Wow." Anna thought. "We should get one of those."

"A telegraph line? Yes, I was thinking the same thing…Hans has been pestering me on it for a while now, but I wasn't sure if it was wise to spend the money. Now I wish we had."

"Look at this," Anna said, grabbing the paper. _"Sources suspect that the Queen may be here to formally ally with the Northern League! _What sources?! How can they print something like that without checking first?!"

"It's the press, Anna; not all newspapers are reliable."

"Well they _ought_ to be!"

Elsa chuckled and scanned the rest of the article as the train began to move. It was a bunch of sensationalist half-truths; the guard she'd sent, she recalled, didn't speak Germanic. He must have bought the wrong paper by accident. She entertained herself for a while, relishing (as she once would never have been able to do) the ominous descriptions of Arendelle's mysterious "ice queen," who had acquired magical powers through unknown means and contracted a strange betrothal with a most fascinating figure, her former assassin. Now with much weightier concerns on her plate, her petty little fears about what people would think of her and Hans seemed almost amusing.

The train thundered along the tracks, swaying back and forth like a ship at sea. It was a strangely soothing motion, divorced from the anxiety she felt while sailing, and as darkness fell she began to grow sleepy. While Anna continued to dip in and out of her romance novel, the queen conjured herself up a fluffy snowdrift pillow and lay down on the bench. She watched the enchanted breeze continue to flutter rhythmically around the compartment, the flame of the lantern wavering each time it passed, leaving dustings of snowflakes in its wake.

Her eyes drifted shut, and when she opened them again the compartment was cool and dark. The floor of the train swayed beneath her feet, and as she sat up the winter breeze flashed behind her head and ruffled her hair.

Anna was shivering under a blanket on the opposite bench. With the sun down, the magical wind was probably too cold for her. The queen went to the window and pushed it up.

A full blast of cold night air from the speed of the locomotive rushed past her face, an exhilarating feeling, and the engine ahead let out a mournful whistle. She peered out into the night, resting her arms on the windowsill. Small farmsteads edged in quicksilver by the moonlight passed before her, windows dark. A dog barked and ran up to the edge of its gate as the train passed; all around, the rolling hills and farms seemed to go on for ages, unbordered by mountains or sea. _So. This is Teutonia…_

The unseasonal wind tugged at her plait again, and with a gentle wave she let it bounce beyond the carriage walls and escape into the open night. She saw it leap northwards, directed by some unspecified and vague will inside her, and then vanish into the night. Perhaps, released from her control, the warming breath of air would rush homewards to Arendelle, though she doubted it.

She had long since learned that her magic was not an act of pure creation; even the small taste of divine power could not cross the boundaries of _ex nihilo. _Rather, it was a manipulation of the world as it already was: a "reaching-into" the heart of things and guiding them towards her intended course. When she closed her eyes and focused, she could feel it: the snap of the cold, the tides of warmth and ice, the ice that lived in everything—the absence of heat, islands of azure nothingness. In that nothingness, water crackled to solid, motion slowed to ceasing, and time stopped. If she let it. If she willed the energy to hover suspended, froze the fire in all things, and let time stand still.

It called to her, in the night. Called her northwards, where the spinning wheel of time moved slower and frost lived in every breath. Called her to where the present tasted like eternity.

She drew back and looked around the compartment. Anna was sleeping soundly now, her snoring fluttering the red locks of hair that fell in her face. The lantern in the hallway outside the compartment burned with a dim red wick. Elsa shut the window and lay back down on the bench.

She did not live in eternity. She lived _here, _and now, with this family and these people of hers who looked to her for guidance and protection. This divine longing in her bones was a raw power, wild and unruly, to be tamed and used to the end for which she had been born, the end she had taken upon herself when she had sworn before God and men to rule wisely and well. She was a queen, and had a queen's burdens to bear. Eternity would have to wait.

* * *

The train arrived in Cölln-Bärlin the following morning. As they entered the city, the fields and farmland were replaced with sturdy brick houses and then tall governmental buildings of gray stone. People of all classes rushed through the busy streets as if each had appointments of the utmost importance; men and women in business suits and dresses passed by working people in their aprons and caps, and the noble class passed by them in turn in leisurely strolls with bustles and umbrellas. Horse-drawn carts and hansom cabs choked the streets, and over it all hung a faint, smoky gray haze. Anna had pressed her nose to the glass, and Elsa herself hovered wide-eyed behind her. She had never seen so many people at one time.

The station was approaching. Beneath the grubby brick buildings, cheering crowds were gathering, waving the Arendellian green-and-purple standard. There must have been thousands of them; Elsa caught glints of sunlight off the yellow crocuses. "Is this all for us?" she asked in amazement.

"I think so," Anna said, peering out the window. She caught sight of her sister's face. "What's wrong?"

"It's—a bit excessive." Elsa looked disturbed. She was used to people applauding politely in her presence, but this was absurd. "All this because I'm a queen."

"Well if it makes you feel any better," Anna said, leaning back in her seat, "they're not doing it because they _like_ you, Elsa."

At last the locomotive pulled to a stop in the station with a cloud of white steam. Elsa passed her suitcase off to one of the guards as another helped her down off the step and shielded her eyes from the morning sunshine, looking around the platform. The cheer of the crowds was louder now, and she caught in various north-Germanic dialects calls of _"It's them!"_ and "_Königin Elsa!"_ She heard a shout asking for her to do a magic trick and blushed. She caught expressions of hostility in the crowd, as well; Teutonia, like most Germanic kingdoms, had deep cultural memories of the dangers of witchcraft. _Anna's right. This isn't because they like me; I'm a spectacle to them._ She had the uncomfortable feeling that, had she not been a young and beautiful woman, there would not have been so many cheering voices in that crowd.

"Elsa…look."

Anna's voice was soft with awe, and the Queen turned. A gasp escaped her.

The Teutonian Castle rose in all its magnificence before them, seeming closer than it really was as it stood upon the only hill in the area. It looked just as it had been illustrated in her childhood storybook: rose-tinted limestone walls, great soaring turrets with bluish roofs, the high arched gateway with its lifted portcullis. The idyllic scene was wreathed with clouds of gray smog, and beneath it the city rolled outwards in an expanse of modern brick rooftops and smokestacks.

A troop of ten Teutonian guards escorted them to a carriage, which moved slowly through the congested streets towards the castle. The sea of waving green-and-purple flags followed them. As they passed over a medieval stone bridge, the crowd thinned somewhat, and the carriage moved quicker, until at last they'd been waved through into the courtyard of the castle. A small team of servants was there to greet them and carry their few articles of luggage. Seeing the taskless maids following smartly after those carrying their suitcases, the queen suddenly felt embarrassed. Compared to this city, Arendelle was a very…folksy kingdom. And she felt like a very "folksy" queen.

They were handed itineraries, assigned lady's maids, and shown to their guest rooms where they were told they could "freshen up" before their royal luncheon with the Kaiser. Elsa elected to remain in Anna's room after asking the maids to wait outside. "Well!" her sister exclaimed, sitting back down on the bed. "That was an _experience."_

"My word!" Elsa paced to the window, looking out of it with distress. "Is this what a 'modern city' looks like? Our capital is a village compared to this!" Anna shrugged. "What are they expecting from us, I wonder?"

"Foreign policy?" The queen turned to give her sister a flat look, and Anna met it calmly. "Elsa. Stop freaking out. You _always _freak out, and things always turn out _fine."_

"With notable exceptions."

"Coronation ball doesn't count, you know that."

Elsa scrutinized her, and then relented. "Alright, fine. You're right. Things will turn out."

"I'm always right. Now help me into my fancy clothes, I can't do the back myself."

* * *

Before lunch began, they were escorted to the throne hall to pay their proper respects to the Kaiser. As they entered, the queen stifled a gasp, not wanting to appear unrefined, but when she glanced to her sister she saw that Anna's eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

The Royal Teutonian Palace was medieval in origin, but the passing eras had so thoroughly left their mark on the castle that Elsa's first impression of the throne hall was being in a massive cathedral whose interior showed an accumulation of the centuries. Great stone pillars sprouted delicately upwards to support the vaulted ceiling; renaissance-era tapestries covered the cold stone walls and glittering stained glass windows on the lower level illuminated the floor in prismatic colors. Clear-glassed windows on the upper tier let in the cheery morning sunlight. The effect was striking: as she passed beneath a stained-glass window depicting the mythic Briar Rose, she could not shake the feeling of approaching something semi-divine, something fixed and in some strange way almost immortal. This was the sort of palace which housed—the sort of house which could _make—_a _kaiser._

At the far end of the hall was a throne dais preceded by a red carpet. As they drew nearer, the figure on the throne rose to his feet, and the illusion was somewhat shattered as she beheld an old, balding man with an impressive mustache and mutton chops, in modern Teutonian military uniform. His chest glittered with several medals and the Teutonian Cross, but, like all royalty, the human being who sat in his throne seemed dwarfed by it. Elsa immediately relaxed and felt a sort of kinship with the king as she swept into a curtsy.

"Introducing Her Majesty, Queen Elsa Marie Andersen of the Royal House of Arendelle, _himmelenvelsignet, _and Princess Anna Katheryna Bjorgman of the same, ambassador to the League state of Corona."

"Your Majesty. Ambassador." The Kaiser bowed stiffly in return. "Welcome to Teutonia. I trust your journey went well?"

"Quite smoothly, thank you. We were honored to receive such a warm greeting this morning at the station."

"Everyone has been eagerly anticipating your arrival." The Kaiser gave them a grandfatherly smile. "I believe lunch is waiting for us in the dining room; shall we adjourn there?"

"Yes, thank you."

They were led to a dining room that, unlike the distinctly medieval throne room, appeared to have come out of a totally different century: the walls had been covered in warm oak panelling and decorated with murals of courtly troubadours playing lutes, and a gleaming oak dining table ran the length of the room, accompanied by chairs upholstered with embroidered red silk cushions. On the table was a centerpiece sculpture in marble and gold of a knight fighting a dragon.

Lunch had been set out for them of mashed potatoes drowned in a sort of brown sauce, sauerkraut, and cooked ham. The king led them in grace, and then they tucked in. "Tell me, how are things in Arendelle?" the Kaiser asked politely.

"Quite well, thank you," the queen replied, trying not to show her nervousness.

"Elsa's being modest," Anna laughed. "We've got a big festival planned for _Fastelavn_ this year!"

_"Fastelavn?_ I'm afraid I don't know that word…"

The conversation meandered for a few minutes around the spring shrovetide festival, during which the queen collected her nerves. When at last the king turned to her to say, "We shall have to visit Arendelle sometime, to see one of your holiday celebrations," she was ready.

"Yes; we likewise would like to return someday on less pressing business."

"Ah yes; duty before pleasure, it seems."

"The motto of a monarch," she replied, remembering how long ago Hans had quoted the same phrase to her, and the Kaiser nodded. "I'm afraid we come bearing less than pleasant news, your Imperial Majesty."

"Have you?"

She steeled her nerves. "Arendelle has decided to remain neutral in the impending conflict between the League and the Southern Isles."

If she was expecting an argument, she was not delivered one. "Ah, I see," the Kaiser nodded, cutting into his ham. "Yes, the Chancellor told me he anticipated as much."

"Wait, what?" Anna piped up. Elsa was glad she had; she too was confused, but didn't want to look it. The Kaiser lifted his eyes from his meal.

"Oh, yes. Of course, we could not be certain, but Chancellor von Eisen is remarkably good at guessing these things."

"But Weselton said–" Anna began, but Elsa interjected:

"We're glad to hear it. Even if this visit is merely a formality, it is an honor to visit Cölln-Bärlin and see Teutonia for ourselves."

"The honor is entirely ours! Tell me, how do you find our many kingdoms?"

"Diverse in many aspects, and yet marked by a certain cultural unity," Elsa mused appreciatively, nudging Anna with her foot under the table so that the bewildered princess closed her mouth. "The Duke of Weselton sang the praises of the League's harmony and interdependence, but I admit we did not truly appreciate it until we witnessed it for ourselves."

"Thank you," said the Kaiser with the slightest hint of pride in his wise, grandfatherly expression. "The League hopes to become a model of modernization and industry by the end of this century."

"Indeed. We have already seen several innovations which I intend to implement back in Arendelle; if you don't mind my asking, how long did it take the League to establish its first telegraph lines…?"

They discussed domestic policy with the Kaiser for the rest of the luncheon, though Elsa's mind was clicking along like the locomotive behind her mask of courtesy. So the Chancellor had anticipated her refusal, had he? Then why had Weselton treated them with such hostility, as if her refusal would be tantamount to an insult? The strange mixture of eager and chilly expressions on the platform came back to her: of course, the Duke conceived of her as a frozen-hearted witch. _He couldn't even reign in his bigotry long enough to successfully carry out a diplomatic mission. So much for delivering the message with "pomp and respectability." _Though the Kaiser seemed startlingly calm about losing a potential ally…

"My granddaughter is very much looking forward to meeting you," the Kaiser said as they finished their meal. "She's talked about nothing else all week."

"Really? How flattering."

"She's sixteen, right?" Anna inquired.

"Yes; she's a darling girl, the whole kingdom loves her. A talented musician and choralist, too. I believe she's out riding at the moment, but she's arranged a lady's tea for you this afternoon."

"That sounds lovely," Elsa said warmly.

A clock chimed the hour, and the three of them stood. "I'm afraid I must really get back to work, your Majesty, Ambassador, but I wish you a pleasant afternoon. Shall I call someone to escort you around the castle?"

"No, I think we can find our way back to our room on our own."

"Ah, yes, your parents were the same way, I remember; they never liked having servants fluttering about them." Elsa and Anna both looked pleased at this. "I'll have the palace staff notified. Until this evening, then?"

They gave their farewells and parted in the hallway. As the sisters headed off towards their rooms, Anna reverted back to her native tongue:

"Not gonna lie, I was expecting someone more...intimidating."

"He's not the one to be wary of," Elsa pointed out vaguely, still lost in thought.

"So what, is he just a figurehead then, or…?"

"No…no, he has real power, but I get the sense he's the sort of king who rules by delegating. He knows when to listen to his advisors…and which ones to keep in power."

Anna caught the meaning and nodded thoughtfully as they continued down the hall.

* * *

The afternoon tea, which was supposed to begin at 3:00 according to their itineraries, was pushed back until 4:00; Anna had had an unexpected afternoon bout of nausea and had taken an extra half-hour to rest afterwards. By the time they were escorted by the maids to the princess's parlor, both were hungry again. "I thought for sure pregnancy would affect your appetite," the queen pointed out as she heard her sister's stomach growl on their way to the parlor.

"It did. I'm hungri_er."_

They were led to a salon on the second floor, which was as richly decorated as the dining room; white marble pillars held up the hardwood-beam ceiling, and the walls were painted in brilliant colors with murals from one of the grail knight legends. Upholstered sofas of pale blue silk were arranged neatly around a table already laden with sweets; despite the lurid colors and cherrywood accents, the room felt quite bright and homey, as the curtains had been drawn back to let in the afternoon sunshine and the gilt chandelier and candelabra had been illuminated with dozens of sparkling candles. Maids in crisp uniforms hovered at uniform intervals around the room, and both princesses stopped, gobsmacked, to see a string quartet arranged in the far corner, playing a pleasant and delicately unobtrusive piece in perfect time.

_"Er ikke alt dette litt overdreven?" _Anna whispered in Arendellian so that the maids wouldn't overhear. _Isn't this all a little excessive?_

_"Det er best å ikke vise det," _Elsa murmured back as she entered the room. _It's best not to show it._

As they sat down on the upholstered sofa one of the maids stepped forward and curtsied. "Her Highness will be arriving shortly, your Majesty, Ambassador, and asks your pardon."

"Oh, no, no worries!" Anna said chipperly, and then did a survey of the deserts on the table, her eyes glittering. "I suppose it would be bad form to start without her?" she asked her sister guiltily.

"Probably," the queen said dryly, and the princess settled back into the sofa with a disappointed sigh.

Thankfully, they didn't have to wait long; before ten minutes had passed, the door to the salon opened abruptly behind them, and both turned as the maid announced: "Introducing her Royal Highness, Princess Louisa-Rose of the House of Hechingen, Princess of Teutonia."

Both the queen and princess stood as in swept a young woman of sixteen. She was, Elsa noted, just as remarkable a beauty as the press had reported at her debutante ball three months prior: with a cascade of gleaming golden curls, eyes as blue as the sky and a willowy frame, black-and-white newspaper photographs simply could not do her justice. She had donned a lovely pale blue gown with a full skirt and lace sweetheart collar, complete with ribbons and bows and enough lace to keep a small textile shop in business for a year. Princess Louisa let out a delighted little squeal and rushed forward, throwing her arms around the startled but happy Anna before letting out a little gasp.

"Oh! Sorry!" She cleared her throat and stepped back, giving an elegant curtsy. "Your Majesties. Welcome to Teutonia." She beamed up at them from the bow and then straightened up, giggling and clapping her hands. "Oh, I'm so glad to finally meet you! I've heard just the most wonderful stories!"

"Ah– have you?" Elsa stammered, thrown a little off-guard. Anna, however, looked warmly pleased.

The princess waved for the guards to close the door; the footmen stood on either side, looking as if they would remember no more of what they saw than a statue. "Ooh, please, sit down, sit down!" she urged them. "Oh, papa told me you both like chocolate! Have you ever tried Teutonian black forest cake? You really must if you haven't!"

"Ooh, yes please!" Anna immediately cut herself a slice and dug in. "Oh my wor', Elfa, you haff 'o 'ry 'is."

Princess Louisa giggled and sank with a charming combination of clutziness and grace onto the loveseat opposite them. Elsa was reminded of a young Anna and felt a rush of fondness for the girl. "So," she said with a smile, "what are these 'wonderful stories' you've heard about us?"

"Oh, I hope I wasn't rude. Only everyone's heard of them, they're in all the papers. How you can do the most incredible magic, and how Princess Anna climbed up the North Mountain to rescue you and sacrificed her life to save you, and how her pure and honest heart saved the kingdom!" Anna had the good grace to blush here. "And how Prince Hans, who was very wicked, fell in love with you and your love thawed his frozen heart—and all that," the girl pinked, though she was watching them eagerly. "It _is_ all true, isn't it?"

"Well, I–I wouldn't say it was my love that, ah, 'thawed the prince's heart,'" Elsa said delicately, which was true; she hadn't given her forgiveness easily, and both she and Hans had fought and paid dearly to make things right between them. She thought of their fight in the library and the uncomfortable recognition that those difficult emotions still weren't fully resolved, and probably wouldn't be for a long, long time. "But you've got the general gist of it, yes."

The princess's eyes sparkled, and Anna laughed and tossed a little crumb at her so that it _plocked! _off Princess Louisa's forehead. The girl's perfectly red-rose lips opened into a little _o_ of surprise. "Go on, you can ask! She doesn't mind."

"Could you…show me some magic?" the princess inquired, a bit sheepishly.

The queen smiled and set her plate of cake aside. With a twirl of her hands and a sparkle of magic (and a few lost snowflakes), a glassy box topped with a figurine appeared in her hands. The Teutonian princess gasped, and she accepted the gift with awe. She turned the ice handle, and a little tune played out in glassy glockenspiel chimes, while the ice figurines of the three of them eating cake spun on the top. "It's beautiful…"

"Thank you. It took me forever to learn how to make them," Elsa said with a proud smile, pouring herself a cup of tea. "The springs were the real trouble. Don't worry, it won't melt, at least not so long as I'm alive."

"I'll treasure it forever," Princess Louisa vowed reverently, setting the gift to the side.

"Show-off," Anna teased, sticking her tongue out at her sister.

"Speaking of gifts, I've heard the most wonderful rumor," Princess Louisa said, looking at the princess. "Is it true? Are you having a baby?" Anna nodded with a grin, and the princess clapped her hands. "Oh, that's wonderful! Here, I wasn't sure– but I thought I'd bring it just in case–!"

She leapt to her feet, much to their bemusement, but a maid called gently, "I can fetch it, m'lady."

"Oh!" Louisa pinked. "Oh, right." She sat back down while the Arendellians giggled and the maid brought over a little box wrapped in white paper and a pink bow. When Anna opened it, she saw a pair of miniature, finely-wrought gilt crowns, one a tiara and the other a boy's crown. "I had them commissioned from a jeweler right here in Cölln-Bärlin," Louisa added.

"They're amazing. Thank you so much." Regretfully the redhead handed the package back to the maid, sighing: "You'd probably better bring those to our room before I drop them in the cake or something…"

"Your whole family has been so kind to us," Elsa said to Louisa. "Really, we couldn't have asked for a better welcome."

"I've been hoping you would visit Teutonia for _ages. _Actually, I was hoping to get your advice," said the Tuetonian princess, face abruptly falling and wide blue eyes peering up at them. "With a serious problem."

Elsa put her plate of the cake down, suddenly wary; did the princess intend to persuade her to change her mind? Did the Kaiser and Chancellor perhaps have different views on Arendelles' involvement in the war?

But then the princess pulled out a small packet of envelopes from the skirt on her dress. "You see I've just been getting all these letters from suitors, and I was hoping I could ask your advice…"

"So many letters?" Anna said, looking at them in awe. "But you just debuted a few months ago…"

"I know. It's all so exciting!" Louisa giggled. "But it's really quite a project."

"Does the Kaiser want you to marry so quickly?" _She's still just a girl…_

But Louisa shook her head. "Grandfather says I'm not allowed to marry until I'm eighteen, and papa agrees with him so there's nothing I can do. But I think maybe I've found my true love already, and I don't want to wait!"

"Oh? And who is he?"

Before she had even finished the question, Louisa had pulled one of the letters from the pile. "Klaus Ulfstein– I mean," she giggled, _"Herr_ Klaus of the House of Ulfstein, Duke of Ulfenburg. I met him at the Duchess of Alsachtine's ball last month, and I think he might be the _one," _she sighed dreamily, clutching a letter to her chest. "But now I'm hearing all these _terrible_ rumors…how is a girl to know that a man will be true?"

"Princess Louisa," Anna said kindly, "you can't get to know someone in one night. It takes _time _to know if you're really in love; you shouldn't marry someone you've just met–"

Elsa coughed into her tea, and Anna shot her a dirty look. "My sister is right," the queen said politely, putting down her teacup. "To know a man's character you have to spend a lot of time with him, in lots of different situations. You have to discuss important matters like—oh, like his opinions on money, on child-rearing, on what your roles would be in the relationship. That can take a long while, sometimes years."

"But I want to be married _now," _the princess sighed, slouching into the couch dramatically. "Is it the most _wonderful _thing, to be married, Princess Anna?"

"It's _amazing,"_ the princess reassured her. Louisa beamed. "But it's also a lot of hard work! Two people planning out a whole life together—that's not easy, you know! That's why you've really gotta look for the right kind of guy, somebody you know you can trust—and somebody you can be friends with! That's the most important thing. Never marry a man you can't be friends with."

"But what about falling in love? That doesn't take years and years…"

"Well no, but–"

"Aren't you in love with the Prince, Queen Elsa?"

"Yes, I am," the monarch replied with a smile, almost forgetting for a moment that in fact she had no ring on her finger beneath her gloves. "But he is, first and foremost, a companion and a friend. Take our advice," she added, taking Lousia's hand in hers in a motherly way, "wait at least a few years to get married, get to know the man first—and remember, you _are_ in line to be queen someday. The man who becomes your prince must be fit for the rigors of the throne."

Princess Louisa peered at her, surprised. "What do you mean? Surely it can't be _that_ hard…"

The monarch and the ambassador exchanged glances, and then Anna gave her sister a wry smile. She turned back to the princess. "Well, don't worry about that just yet," the redhead advised with a giggle. "You're still young, you've got ple_-enty_ of time to figure all that out!"

They chatted another few hours, and then it was time for supper. The princess offered to lead them, but then suddenly remembered she'd wanted to change into her pink dress for dinner and scampered away to her dressing room with reassurances she'd see them in the dining room. Once she was out of earshot, they reverted to their native tongue.

"She's got a lot of energy!" Anna laughed as they walked, wiping an imaginary line of sweat off her brow. "Or maybe I'm just tired from the baby."

"It's not you," Elsa chuckled. "Let's just say I've built up a lot of stamina." Anna smacked her shoulder.

"Oh come on, I was not that bubbly." The queen smirked. "Was I?" Her sister laughed, and the princess groaned. "Oh man, I totally _was…"_

"You were young, you had a lot of energy."

"Young and naïve, you mean." They shared a smile and continued walking. "It's nice," Anna sighed wistfully.

"What is?"

"They're letting her, y'know, be a kid. We never had that luxury. I mean, you were acting like a grownup when you were twelve–"

_"Trying_ to act like a grownup–"

"–and, well, after mama and papa died, we both had to do our share running the kingdom, y'know? Obviously you did most of it on your own but…it wasn't easy." Anna shrugged. "I'm glad she just gets to…be herself, grow up. You know?"

Elsa nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. I do."

* * *

The next morning they were taken on a tour of Cölln-Bärlin. Anna, to Elsa's amusement, took great pleasure in visiting a sausage-making factory ("It's the local cuisine, Elsa!"), whereas the queen was more interested in seeing the headquarters for the most important newspaper in the League, _The Teutonian Times, _based off the Dun Broch paper of the same model started eighty years before. She was greatly impressed (and not a little unnerved) by the sight of not one but _two_ steam-powered rotary presses, gleaming in their giant iron wheels and their hardwood paper trays, stacked three levels high on each side. "Each can produce a million copies a day," the paper's owner told her proudly. "We don't quite need the second one yet, but by the Kaiser's good health, we will soon!" And he'd let out a hearty laugh.

Her meeting with the Chancellor was scheduled for that afternoon; Anna was originally scheduled to attend, but nausea struck suddenly half an hour before the meeting. "Sorry," she choked out from the lavatory, and Elsa grimaced at the sound of her sister spitting and running the tap. "This is supposed to stop soon…"

"Perhaps we should reschedule…?"

"You didn't really need your ambassador there anyway. You'll be okay, Elsa, just go–" She heard Anna gulp down a breath of air and repress a gag, "–Go without me."

So she did, armored with nothing but a respectable deep-indigo ice dress not unlike her coronation gown, her tiara, her gloves, and a nervous tightness between her shoulder blades.

The Chancellor's office was not, of course, in the Palace but rather the House of the Diet. When the queen arrived she was escorted to the second floor and left to wait in an antechamber, alone, until 2:00. Thankfully she'd only been five minutes early, but she did wonder whether the Teutonians were in bad form for keeping a queen waiting, or if she herself would be in bad form for disturbing the Chancellor early. She waited until the clock chimed two, and then stood and knocked on the door.

"Come in," a voice called from the other side of the wood, and she pushed the door open.

The office inside was one of those strict square Germanic rooms that always feels vaguely cold and empty even on a hot summer day. The wallpaper was gray and hung with a few paintings, mostly small portraits. A large square window on her left with tied-back lace curtains let in the watery sunlight, beside which was a roll-top desk, closed, with a clock on top. There was another, much larger mahogany desk with spindly dark legs and a green top, and it was beside this that the Chancellor sat, quill in hand and papers stacked neatly in front of him, with his back to the window. Opposite him was a leather armchair for visitors. As she entered, she saw a bookcase, a liquor cabinet and another small mahogany table against the door-side wall, the last bearing two chess sets halfway through their games: one was made of polished granite in red and gray, the other in finely carved antique ivory. Each board had a small stack of telegraphs bound neatly beside them; from a glance she could see that the games were rather complex.

"I see you've noticed my chess sets."

She looked up. The Chancellor was watching her with a mild expression. "They're beautiful pieces."

"Thank you. The granite is from the United Colonies' Secretary of War; we have a game going, as you can see."

"And who is winning?" she said with a smile.

"Oh, hard to say at this point. He's as fine a player as he is a general; I watched his campaigns during their civil war quite attentively, you know. Brilliant mind."

"And the other game?"

"Her Royal Highness the Sultana Masoumeh." The queen raised her eyebrows with an appreciative nod. "The chessboard was a gift from her uncle, the Grand Sultan; you know, I'm sure, that chess came to Europe through the Islamic world?"

"It's a fine set," she said, studying it. "As fine as its players, it seems."

"Ah, do you play?"

"Prince Hans and I play all the time," she replied, smiling broader despite herself as she walked to the armchair.

"Indeed!" He seemed pleased. "Well, we will have to play sometime when you're able to visit Cölln-Bärlin again, on pleasure instead of business."

"That sounds like a fine idea. May I?"

He gestured for her to sit, and she did so. The armchair was of good quality. "So," the man said, lacing his fingers on the desk and watching her. "To business, unfortunately, rather than pleasure."

He waited for her to speak. Uncomfortable, she decided to fill it: "Forgive me, _Herr_ Chancellor–" It was only with the shared cross-language title that she realized they had begun the conversation not in Germanic as she'd intended, but Arendellian, "–but I've been receiving rather mixed signals. I was told by the Duke of Weselton that Teutonia wanted Arendelle's help during the war, but yesterday the Kaiser seemed rather unconcerned when he said you'd anticipated our refusal."

The Chancellor looked surprised. "Is that what the Duke told you?"

Elsa nodded, suddenly feeling uncertain. The Chancellor gave a snort. "Weselton is more intelligent than people give him credit for, but not as intelligent as he thinks he is," he said frankly. "You'll be pleased to hear that he quite miscommunicated my intentions, your Majesty. I invited you here to _request_ that Arendelle remain neutral in the impending conflict."

It took Elsa several moments to regain her voice. "...I-I beg your pardon?" she stammered.

"I am not a fool, your Majesty. I would of course prefer to have you and your kingdom align with our forces, I shan't lie to you—but I knew the odds of you participating in a campaign against the Southern Isles were small at best. All I am asking, Queen Elsa, is that you extend the same courtesy to Corona and the rest of the League. Arendelle has no reason to make enemies of anyone in this conflict, least of all one of her own allies."

"So...you do not want us to support Corona," Elsa repeated, suspicious.

"Not at this juncture, no."

"May I ask why?"

"First, because you do not want to," the Chancellor said simply. "Whether you side with Corona or not is of far lesser importance to the League than that you and the prince do not, personally, fight on behalf of the Isles. Mixing magic and warfare is dangerous business; we would prefer to deal with a level playing field than an uncertain one." Elsa bit back a retort that the whole forces of the Northern League against the Southern Isles could hardly be considered a "level playing field." "Second, however, and in my opinion more importantly: I do not wish to see you or Prince Johannes break ties with the Southern Isles."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Isles are a powder keg. There are at least four factions vying for power: the military, the nobility, the monarchy, and the peasantry. A few years ago it seemed as if some sort of coup were inevitable; whatever the monarchy and nobility might have _believed, _a hungry people will usually find means to acquire a stock of gunpowder eventually."

"I see…"

"Arendelle's modernizing influence, however, has temporarily pacified matters. My dear, please, I am not naïve," he waved off her guilty protestations, "it is obvious that it was on your demand that the processes of common enfranchisement began in the Isles three years ago. Now, whether the peasantry would have _won_ such an uprising is questionable; the military, I believe, is closely tied to the noble houses, yes?" Elsa nodded uncertainly, feeling as if she were betraying the Isles by admitting it. "The obvious result would have been civil war."

"Which would have made the Isles vulnerable to the League," Elsa pointed out.

"Indeed, at a cost. No doubt you recall the remarkable influence the Francian peasant revolutionaries had on their class equals across Europe. I don't mind telling you that it is not far from the Kaiser's mind." Elsa inclined her head. "No, it is in the League's interest that you, and the prince, maintain your popularity in the eyes of the Southern common people. Your modernizing influence doubles as a pacifying one: if the Southern people achieve their desires without having to revolt against their monarchy, it is on the whole better for us in the long run."

"But this war to claim Schwarzenbek and Ratzeburg has _destabilized _the reigning king. Surely you must have realized that."

"If King Agnar is as smart a man as the Westergaards are famed to be, he will wage a short and pointless war to appease the nobility without sacrificing too many men. To maintain his hold over the throne he will need their support, not that of the peasantry. He can continue his process of modernization afterwards." He caught her expression. "It is, I admit, a tight needle to thread—but then, the Westergaards excell at clinging to power tenaciously, above all in difficult situations."

Elsa had to grant that this was true; a less obstinate family than the Westergaards would have ruined themselves by now. "As I recall," the Chancellor continued, "he has another two years before his brothers return from their sentences, yes? Provided he works quickly in that time, without another immediate claimant to the throne he should be able to reestablish goodwill with the populace, and the situation will normalize again."

"So the king must sacrifice the common man to save him," Elsa said bitterly.

"Your Majesty, this is politics. Sacrifice is a valuable move, and one a politician ought not discount." The queen, grudgingly, had to concede this. "In short, it is to our advantage that Arendelle remains neutral. All we ask in return is that you persuade Prince Johannes to follow suit."

"Hans—ah, Princes Johannes—is not an easy man to persuade."

The Chancellor shrugged. "Remind him he has a kingdom waiting for him back in Arendelle if he cooperates. That ought to convince him." Seeing Elsa's face twitch in mild disgust at the thought of such manipulations, he added: "Surely if he is soon to become an ally of Corona, he ought to act like one."

Elsa was abruptly grateful that she had worn gloves; the Chancellor did not know, then that the engagement had been broken. Now that she thought of it, the Duke of Weselton hadn't appeared to notice that she hadn't been wearing her ring at their meeting. "...I will discuss the matter with him when he returns to Arendelle."

"My thanks. Can we count on Arendelle to remain neutral, then?"

"That is our intention," she affirmed, but then sidestepped elegantly: "However, it is Arendellian law that the queen's decision must be ratified by her council—which of course, we will not be able to do until Teutonia or the Isles formally declare war."

The Chancellor chuckled. "A wise answer. Very well, your Majesty. I look forward to reading of your kingdom's decision in the _Arnadalr Herald."_

"Oh, we would send an official letter, of course–"

"To Corona, and then by carriage to Bremmerburg and then at last by train to Cölln-Bärlin," the Chancellor corrected. "At least a four-day exchange; meanwhile, I'll have had a copy of the _Herald_ a day earlier off the merchant ships and word from the Eastern Mountains two days before that." Elsa's face had fallen. "Don't fret, we won't be offended; those of us in high office understand that oftentimes money talks faster than politics."

The queen nodded, relieved. "Indeed. Thank you; the world is certainly moving quickly these days."

"As fast as the telegraph lines can carry it. Who knows? Maybe one day the chemists will finally catch their lightning in a bottle, let us send whole letters across the wires."

Elsa laughed, rising to her feet as he did the same. "What a world that would be." They shook hands, and she marvelled for a second at the simple action—no frost, not a single snowflake appeared, something she would have considered impossible just five years earlier—before the clock chimed the quarter-hour. "Will you be attending the Kaiser's dinner this evening?"

"Yes, most of the senior statesmen have been invited. I shall have to introduce you to a good friend of mine, General von Helm. I believe you would find him a most interesting man."

"I look forward to it. Good afternoon, _Herr_ Chancellor."

"Your Majesty."

She left the office, far more relieved than she'd anticipated feeling just fifteen minutes prior. As she entered the hall, however, she was surprised to see the Kaiser approaching the door. She curtsied cordially. "Your Imperial Majesty."

He returned the bow. "Queen Elsa. Is von Eisen in?"

"Yes, we just finished a meeting."

"Excellent," the king said, though his expression was concerned. He brushed past her into the office and shut the door.

For a moment, the Queen considered staying behind to listen through the door. It was something Hans would have done, she thought, wavering, and then decided against it. She wouldn't like to be found out here spying on a fellow monarch like a schoolgirl. Musing over the meeting, she made her way down the hall back towards the street door.

Inside the office, the Chancellor abruptly stood again, seeing his king's expression. "You look like you could use a brandy."

"I feel it as much as I look it."

The statesmen went to the liquor cabinet and poured two small doses of amber wine. The king downed half of his and looked better for it. "Now tell me, your Majesty," the Chancellor said, sipping his own, "What's brought you to the _Versammlung_ at quarter past two in the afternoon?"

The kaiser wordlessly passed him a telegram, which the Chancellor opened and read. His brows rose slightly and he uttered an, _"Ah,"_ but when he handed the telegram back to his king he looked otherwise quite calm. "So," he said thoughtfully, "Prince Johannes is in the Eastern Mountains—arriving from the Southern Isles."

"I know the Eastern Mountains have promised us their neutrality," the Kaiser said, worried, "but word has it the prince is quite the diplomat."

"That he is," the Chancellor murmured thoughtfully.

"Is it possible he's been sent by the Isles to negotiate with the Eastern Mountains?"

"If he has, then we have greater concerns than the loyalties of the Eastern Mountains." The Kaiser watched the Chancellor peer down into his brandy, lost in thought, and then the statesmen looked up with a knowing smile. "The telegram said he arrived as a stowaway on a trade ship," he mused. "No, _mein Kaiser, _I do not think we need to worry, provided we plan our next few moves carefully; I suspect this is just a stop on the prince's journey back to Arendelle. But just in case, this is what you need to do…"

He explained his plan to the Kaiser, who by the end of it was nodding thoughtfully. "I see. So we will wait to tell Prince Roffe until tomorrow, then?"

"Indeed. He need not know we received the message today."

"And you're certain the queen will…?"

"Nothing is certain but salvation, my king_. _But it risks us no harm and may well do some good."

"I see...very well. I will have the palace staff informed immediately."

* * *

"Introducing Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elsa Marie Andersen of the Royal House of Arendelle, _himmelenvelsignet, _and Her Royal Highness, Princess Anna Katheryna Bjorgman of the same, ambassador to Corona."

There was applause as the doors to the dining room swung open and the two entered, sweeping into polite curtsies. "Finally got the hang of that!" Anna whispered as they straightened up, and Elsa hid a giggle behind her hand.

"Right this way, your Majesty, Ambassador."

They were escorted to positions, Elsa noted, of no small honor: at the head of the table sat the Kaiser, his queen, the crown prince and princess, and princess Louisa. Anna was seated beside the young princess, who looked thrilled at the arrangement, while Elsa was placed across the table beside the Chancellor, who sat directly to the Kaiser's right. "Ah, Queen Elsa," the statesman said, standing to pull out her chair for her, "I did promise to introduce you to my friend, General von Helm, yes?"

"Indeed." She inclined her head politely to the man indicated, who was seated in a chair two away from hers, an empty seat in the middle. The General was a tall man with graying hair, oddly enough no mustache, a sharp nose and on the whole a face that implied he had been general-ing since he was a little boy scratching battle plots in the schoolyard dirt. "A pleasure to meet you, General."

"Your Majesty. How have you enjoyed Cölln-Bärlin?"

"Very much, thank you."

"Introducing His Royal Highness, Prince Roffe Sigmund Erikkson of the Royal House of Järnsida, ruling house of the Eastern Mountains, ambassador to Teutonia."

Another smattering of applause sounded, and their conversation was curtailed as the footmen led Prince Roffe to the empty seat between Elsa and General von Helm. The queen repressed an expression of disgust; Prince Roffe was the young nobleman she had met at the baptismal ball, and had never been too happy about "losing out" on the eligible queen and princess to a peasant laborer and disgraced prince convicted of high treason. He had also attended her coronation, she had learned from Hans, but had made such little impression on her then that she couldn't recall him from that evening at all. She looked across the table to Anna for help, but her sister was engrossed in conversation with Princess Louisa.

"Your Majesty," said Prince Roffe, in a voice that was probably meant to sound polite but which contained that unmistakable note of cool snobbery that petty men always have when they feel slighted by a woman. "Welcome to Cölln-Bärlin."

"Thank you. I was not aware you were the Eastern Mountains' ambassador to Teutonia."

He puffed up at that. "Yes, my father appointed me ambassador here last year. I'm surprised my sister didn't mention it to you." His elder sister, Crown Princess Ingrid, was the Mountains' ambassador to Arendelle. He scanned the room with his haughty sky-blue eyes. "I see your fiancé isn't here."

"Prince Johannes had other matters to attend to," Elsa half-lied smoothly.

"Indeed? What a shame. A prospective husband, I should think, would not want his queen to undertake such a difficult journey alone." _I wouldn't have, _his sniff added, _if I were your husband._ He probably meant it as a boast.

The queen, again, suppressed her disgust and now her irritation at his unconscious chauvinism. "Oh, my sister and I are made of strong material, your Highness. We've quite enjoyed the visit."

"Have you? I'm glad. Tell me, are the rumors true that the princess is to have a child?" He cast a glance across the table at Anna, who was laughing uproariously at something Louisa had said. "I see she hasn't taken any wine."

Elsa glanced to the Chancellor, who was, unfortunately, deep in discussion with his king and could offer no salvation. "Yes, we're all quite excited."

"And she came all this way in her condition?"

_And to think this man is a Crown Princess's brother! _"Oh, your Highness," she responded with a tinkling laugh, "pregnancy is hardly what I'd call a _condition. _If the princess were a sherpa that might be a different matter, but her work as our ambassador remains, as always, unparallelled." She beamed at him charmingly. "I imagine you'll be seeing her here in Teutonia more often, actually; I'll be making her ambassador to the League after this trip." _Eat that, you chauvinistic bastard._

"I see." His blue eyes swiveled back to her. "I'm surprised. I would think Prince Johannes the more immediate choice."

"Oh, he'll be concerned with other matters."

His eyes flickered downwards and then up again. "Indeed."

Her face flushed red with anger, and she covered it by spearing a bite of her salad, willing the heat away from her cheeks with the ice in her blood. "Yes, I expect Prince Johannes will make an _excellent_ ruler," she said coldly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Prince Roffe stiffen. She hadn't said _"king," _but she may as well have.

"Your Majesty," he said, voice clipped, "Have you seen much of Cölln-Bärlin?"

"We took a tour of the city this morning," she retorted coolly.

"Oh? You really must see the city sometime in winter, it's wonderful."

"Is it?" _Where's he going with this?_

"Yes; I'm sure you've seen ordinarily that the city is rather sooty—all the coal, you understand. But after the first snowfall it always looks so clean and beautiful. It covers the dirt right up."

"I see…?"

"It's rather like our little Reformist parable." The prince let out a laugh. "About sin and grace, I'm sure you've heard of it."

"Yes, I–"

"Mercy," he barrelled on, "is like the snow that covers the dunghill of corruption, so that not even God himself can see what lies below. But no matter how much snow you heap on top of what's beneath, your Majesty, it will always _stink_ like a dunghill."

Elsa sat, flabbergasted with rage. She was not a Reformist, but she was fairly certain that wasn't how the metaphor was meant to be read. _He probably thinks he's being clever, _she seethed inwardly, taking a sip of her wine to hide her fury. She thought of the prince far away in the Isles or on a ship somewhere, alone and at the mercy of the world, and felt she had to defend his honor—as a friend, even if not technically as a fiancée. "Oh, I don't know," she said once she'd found her voice again, and forced it to trill politely. "I rather believe that snow has a real _transformative_ property."

"Transformative, your Majesty?"

"Indeed. I do so love spring, when the snow melts and washes all the grime clean away." She gave a polite laugh. "But I suppose that's just my Traditionalist sensibilities."

The Chancellor beside her gave a chuckle, startling her; she hadn't realized he'd been listening. Face red with anger, Prince Roffe turned abruptly to talk to General von Helm, while Elsa was politely introduced into the conversation with the Chancellor and the Kaiser. The two didn't speak again for the rest of the dinner, which was just fine with the queen. As she discussed the difficulties of modernization with the king and statesman, however, an idea began to form in her mind.

* * *

"Of course, if you're against the matter–"

"My dear, I think it's a wonderful idea!" The Kaiser looked delighted. "A perfect sendoff."

"It should be gone by tomorrow evening, and the children in Arendelle do so seem to like it…"

"I'll have the schools call off classes. The children do need some levity in these difficult times."

"Oh, yes," said the Chancellor mildly, though she caught the twitch of his mustache, and the significant glance he gave to Prince Roffe across the room, who was polishing off his third after-dinner _aperitif. _"I think we could all do with a little _levity."_

"Then it's settled." She gave the smallest of waves with her hand towards the curtained window—the Kaiser looked fascinated by the motion—and then pulled her glove back on. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, the princess and I would like to get some rest before our departure tomorrow."

"But of course, my dear. I shall see you off at the station."

Elsa curtsied to him, and then to the Chancellor. "Your Majesty," he said, inclining his head, and then raised his glass. "It has been a pleasure."

"The pleasure was entirely ours, Chancellor. Good evening."

"Good evening."

She and Anna left, the princess yawning as they walked up the stairs. "Oh, I could sleep for two days straight…"

"You can sleep the whole ride back to Bremmerburg if you like."

"That sounds nice…" They'd reached the door. "Are you coming in?"

"In a while," Elsa said vaguely. "There's a place I want to see here in the castle before we leave…"

If Anna was curious, she was too tired to show it. She bade her sister goodnight and then stumbled into the room, yawning again. The queen flagged down a passing maid to ask for directions, and the young woman escorted her to a large room with a fireplace-frame which held, not a hearth, but a passage to the staircase on the other side of the wall. The maid unlocked the door barring the passage, and then bade her goodnight and left Elsa to climb the medieval spiral staircase alone.

It had been left just as it must have looked that fateful day, the stone walls and old solid beams without whitewash. The candelabra were unlit, so she created a small sphere of blue magic, showering snowflakes, to light her way.

At the top of the staircase she found a tower attic room. Against one wall stood an ancient spinning-wheel without a spindle or thread, the wood long since ossified. Elsa paid it a moment's awed consideration, and then turned to the opposite wall. There was a window there, covered with a glass pane. She unlocked the pane and pushed it open to breathe in the fresh air, and look down on the glimmering streetlights of Cölln-Bärlin.

Against the night sky, snowflakes drifted down, cold and clean and gentle, over the city, and the queen smiled.

* * *

"You may wait in here. The king will be with you shortly."

"Thank you."

The maid curtsied and left, shutting the door behind him, and Hans, still in his overcoat and scarf, set down his suitcase and sank wearily into one of the decorative chairs lining the walls of the gallery room. Three days of hiding in a cargo hold, languishing in the seaboard-town's jail and then being shuttled north across the Eastern Mountains on a cargo train, under armed guard, was taking its toll. It was already nearing midnight, and he couldn't understand why the king didn't want to put this off until morning; Hans certainly did. _I suppose I'm too much of a national security risk to keep me waiting, _he mused with irony.

The gallery room was warm and dark, a few candles lit for his convenience. The wall to his back was of dark red and gray marble, but several of the other walls were red brick; from what little he'd seen in the dark on his way in, so was most of the castle. The room was decorated with portraits from the last century of men in wigs and impractical armor, yet his tired eyes fastened instead on the wooden beams holding up the ceiling, which were painted with rosemåling floral motifs. It reminded him of the castle at Arendelle.

Arendelle...it had become his home. He was supposed to be king there, eventually. Wasn't he? Or were the Isles his true home? He was smart enough to realize that Agnar's offer, though made in a moment of desperation, was nonetheless in earnest: his brother had no wife, and none of his brothers were fit to rule.

"_I was thirteenth in line for the throne in my own kingdom. I didn't stand a chance, I knew I'd have to marry into the throne somewhere…"_

Could he be king of the Isles? He rubbed his head exhaustedly; it felt heavy and slow. Did he still want that? Could he turn his back on his people even if he didn't? And if Elsa sided with Corona...

"_You're no match for Elsa."_

To do that…could he really…

"_No. _You're_ no match for Elsa."_

He was just so_ tired..._

"_I, on the other hand, am the hero who is going to save Arendelle from destruction!"_

His head lolled back against the wall.

* * *

_The acrid stench of smoke filled the air. Like Pliny's nephew at Pompeii, he watched the ash drift down thick like gray snow onto the burning houses and the familiar cobblestone streets. There were bodies, lying motionless, in those streets, arms flung outwards now stilled, feet numb and tangled as if they'd fallen where they'd stood—bodies, men and women and children, familiar friends now charred and bloodied._

_A cold wind buffeted at his back, momentarily dispersing the waves of heat radiating off the stones and burning buildings. Hans ignored it, numb. He stared at the corpse of a townswoman, badly burnt. Blackened. Smothered in ash. It was beyond description—beyond comprehension._

_ He had done this. He had done this to them. These people he loved._

_ "Hans."_

_ He turned, and she stood before him, pristine as an icicle._

_ And he hated her._

_ "How could you?"_

_ At her accusation, a hellscape of flame lashed out towards her and was countered by white-blue light that filled the air with mist._

_ "How could I?" he snarled. "How could I?!"_

_ Ice snapped under his boots; he rushed the queen as rage sang in his soul: "After what you did to my people–!"_

_ His sword clashed down and rang against the conjured barrier of ice; it shattered and he threw it away, hating her, hating everything, for she had starved his people and entombed them, she had besieged them and laid famine on them, yes, and covered his kingdom in snow and ice, and he had only done likewise, no more and no less–!_

_ A blast of cold magic shot towards him, and he withered it with a sweep of his hand. They were on the fjord again, back where they always ended up, that eternal moment that bound them together._ _Flashes of ice and fire ricocheted in pulses of light through the billowing snow; the tinkling crackle of ice was all the warning he had to lunge out of the way as massive icicles sprang to life to skewer him whole. His head pounded with fury and the exhilaration of terror._

_But the queen had vanished into the whiteout. "You can't hide from me, Elsa!" he called into the snow, teeth gritted and hand raised. "You know I always win…"_

"_Not this time," a voice near his ear whispered, and a dagger of ice plunged up under his ribs._

* * *

He lurched upwards with a gasp just as the door opened again, and he looked over to see the maid staring back at him. He stumbled to his feet, mind still reeling, as the girl hurriedly curtsied again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"N–" He forced his mouth to work again. "No, no need. I just drifted off."

"The king is ready to see you. The guard outside will bring you to his office."

"Thank you."

She curtsied a third time and turned to leave, before she turned back, sniffing the air.

"Do you smell something burning?"

His hands, clasped politely behind him, clenched. "Ah– just the candle smoke, I think," he said, giving her a dashing smile that felt like a rictus grin. "You needn't worry; I wouldn't dream of harming such valuable portraits!"

She giggled, charmed, and left, closing the door behind her. Hans let out a sigh and raised his gloves to eye-level. His heart was pounding, and he felt ill. The visions of the dream were still passing in front of his eyes. He pulled back the wrist-hem of the glove warily and then swallowed. The cotton fibers of the lining had browned and begun to shrivel.

He heard the door open and quickly dropped his hands to his side. The guard poked his head in. "At your convenience, your Highness."

"Of course." Inside, he steeled his nerves. He'd gotten out of worse scrapes than this; he couldn't let his silver tongue fail him now. "Well," he said to the guard, with another falsely confident smile. "Let's go see the King."

* * *

**A/N: I would like to dedicate this chapter to my wonderful boyfriend, Arthur, in honor of St. Valentine's Day. Arthur is my editor for this story as well as one of its major inspirations; this fic wouldn't exist without him. Arthur, my darling, I love you to the ends of the earth and back. Happy Valentine's Day. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

**A/N: Regarding the **_**Versammlung **_**building: the **_**Versammlung**_** is based off the **_**Reichstag,**_** which governed the North German Federation prior to German unification. At this time, the Reichstag was not housed in the current Reichstag building nor in the Berlin Herrenhaus (Prussian House of Lords), but rather in the Mendelssohn residence on Leipziger Street in Berlin, where it would remain until 1889 when it moved to the neighboring building, and then in 1894 to the current Reichstag building. It took me nearly an hour of researching to figure that out. You're welcome.**

**Regarding the "late Empress": In real life, Kaiser Wilhelm I's wife, Princess Augusta, was not a fan of Chancellor Otto von Bismarck's policies, and although she was in support of German unification she was appalled by the means by which she acquired the Empress's crown. However, before marrying her, Wilhelm I (off whom Kaiser Friederich-Wilhelm V is based) had been madly in love with a Polish princess, Eliza Fryderyka Luiza Marta Radziwiłł, who was too low-born (despite her title) for them to be allowed to marry. She died in 1834 of tuberculosis. "Empress Luiza" is a reference to this princess, since, because this is a story set in the world of Disney, "true love won" in the end, unlike in real life.**

**Regarding von Eisen's children: I made a mistake in Chapter One; it's his son, not his grandson, who's fond of Hans's stories.**

* * *

"Damn but it's _cold!"_

"Shut up, Søren."

"You shut up. My feet are _wet."_

"The hell'd you sign up for the army if you didn't want wet feet?"

Behind his bickering comrades, a younger, slighter figure followed, clutching his musket. He had thought hunkering down in freshly-dug ditch was uncomfortable, but he'd have gladly run straight back to it rather than marching out here in the open. The gray overcoat and hat seemed pretty poor protection against an enemy musket-ball. And Søren wasn't wrong, it was cold.

Crickets chirped in the night and crunched underfoot as they paced through the grass. Søren tried to light a cigar and was promptly told by Torvald to "put that damn thing out, you wanna get shot?" which led to another whispered argument. The new spring grass _whsk-whsked _against their feet as they moved through the night, quiet abandoned farmsteads on every side, and kept an eye out for League soldiers trying to cross into Southern territory. They had been walking for so long that, with the exception of the boy, they had forgotten to be afraid.

As for the boy—and he _was_ a boy, just sixteen, having lied to the all-too-willing recruiter—he was thinking very much about home and his warm bed and his mother to whom he had given only an ordinary farewell as he had set off to "school," and who must by now have found the note he'd left in his bedroom.

"We're not gonna get shot over my damn cigar!"

"Maybe not by the enemy, but the captain'll kick your ass for taking the risk! And mine too for letting you!"

_Shut up, shut up!_ The boy pleaded internally, peering around for the enemy soldiers which seemed to lurk around every corner.

_"I'll_ kick your ass if you don't–"

At the sudden burst of barking noise, all three turned around. The snarling and snapping jaw was almost upon them before Torvald got his gun up, and the _crack _of the rifle rang out. The dog fell down dead.

"Dammit!"

They peered around, anxious, but no enemy soldiers appeared at the noise. Breathing hard, they circled around the dog. "Where the hell did it come from?" Torvald demanded.

"Worried about my _damn cigar_ and then you go start _shooting _at some damn dog–!"

The flicker of light caught their eyes, and they looked over. In the nearest of the "abandoned" farmhouses, a light had gone up in the nearest window. "Ah shit…"

"You think it's the enemy?"

They readied themselves. The boy's heart was pounding in his chest. He was sixteen. He'd never killed a man before. He wasn't ready to make a last stand.

"What-n-the-_hell _d'ya bastards think you're doin'?!"

But the figure who stumbled out of the farmhouse was no soldier. The old man staggered towards them in a drunken furious lunge, the old hunting rifle in hands. "I-told-ya-Southern-bastards to get the _hell_ off my land!" he bellowed, waving the gun at them; the Southern soldiers looked back in shock. "Haven't ya heard this is _Germanic _land now? Heh? Eh?" Then he saw the dog. For a long beat, there was silence.

Then he looked up at them, and the look of utter hatred on his face struck straight into the boy's soul.

_"What the hell did ya do to my dog?!"_ He lunged forward. _"I'll kill ya! I'll kill ya no-good sons-of-bitches–!"_

The barrel of the old hunting rifle fixed itself at the boy's chest, and the poor underage Southern soldier with a distant home and a worried mother leveled his rifle, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Those who woke third-earliest in the city of Cölln-Bärlin were the lamplighters. Just before dawn, the troop of working men and women in their caps and bonnets poured out of the civil office with their hooks and snuffers to put out the gas flames lit in the city street lamps the night before. As the little halos of light were dimmed one by one, the city around them slept on, except, of course, for the poor who are always awake in one batch or another and for whom terms like "early" and "late" have lost their meaning.

The man who woke second-earliest in Cölln-Bärlin was the Chancellor of the Northern League, Otto, Prince of Eisen, Duke of Schönhausen. Since his school-days he had been an early riser, and after years of the habit he did not require an alarm clock to wake him—a fortunate thing, as his wife preferred to sleep late. On that fateful March morning he awoke, as always, when the sky was still a deeper blue than the sea and only the far Eastern edge of the smokestack-lined horizon was turning a faint green. He arose and dressed in the dark, kissed his wife on the temple, and made to leave.

"Darling," her voice called sleepily, when he was almost at the door, and he turned back. "Nikolaus is visiting home from school tonight; you will be at dinner, won't you?"

"Of course, _mein perle. _What time?"

"Seven, I believe…" After a pause in which she said no more, he concluded she had drifted back off to sleep, and with a fond smile he left.

Those who woke earliest in Cölln-Bärlin were the Chancellor's cook and butler, and for good reason; it was no small task to prepare their employer's breakfast every morning. Two hard-boiled eggs, several sausages, toast, coffee, champagne and orange juice were, for the Chancellor, a small meal—the lady of the house had insisted he better mind his health and had enlisted the cook in her task. While he was eating, the butler approached with the papers.

"Ah, Gerold. Good, what have we today?"

"Sir. We have last evening's editions of the _Teutonisch Zeiten,_ the _Dun Broch Times, _and the _Sphére; _would you prefer the _Arnadalr Herold _or the _Hagenkopen Budbringer?"_

"Hm. The _Budbringer, _thank you." The cook handed him the papers, and he scanned the _Budbringer's_ front page. Tensions remained high on the Schwarzenbek-Ratzeburg border, but no hostilities had yet erupted. "Have any telegrams arrived for me?"

"Not personally, sir, though I expect anything of import would have gone to your office.

"Just as well. Thank you, Gerold. Have my coat ready; I'll be leaving shortly."

"Sir."

One of the many reasons the Chancellor rose early in the morning was his enjoyment of walking the streets of Cölln-Bärlin, a pleasure he could not securely enjoy during the more crowded hours of the day. A polarizing figure such as himself was certain to draw a certain amount of unwelcome attention, however well he did his work, and after being shot five times in the chest at close range, even he had to admit there were certain risks it was better not to exacerbate. Alas and alack, for though Cölln-Bärlin was enchanting in the early morning, she reached her full beauty in the bustling height of midday.

He reached the _Versammlung _just as the sky was turning the pale pre-dawn yellow. The park through which the street passed was in full bloom; the scent of fresh flowers perfumed the air as petals twirled downwards in the morning breeze. He passed through the park and continued on his way; just past the park lay the baroque city _palais_ which housed the parliament. The windows—both those above the blank pediment and those jutting out from the tile roof—were dark, as they usually were when he arrived. He climbed the marble steps up to the front doors and took off his hat as he entered.

Gerold's conjecture proved correct; there was messenger boy waiting for him in front of his office. "Telegram for you, _herr_ Chancellor." The boy, he noted, looked positively thrilled to be delivering a message to such an important member of government. "From Ruthinia."

"Ruthinia? Thank you, boy. What's your name?"

"Kurt, sir."

"Kurt, I see. Well, have a good day."

_Kurt, _he recited as the boy hurried away. He'd have to remember that. The telegraph office should know better than to send someone so young with such an important message. Still, better to do it discreetly; wouldn't do to have an eager young lad like that scolded…

He read the telegram inside his office. To his pleasure, it contained reassurances from the Ruthinian Tzarina not to get involved in the war. _Excellent. _If either Francia or Dun Broch followed suit, there would be no trouble for the League about the matter. He checked the clock; well, it was still early. He expected to have answers from both by the end of the day, but they would of course take their time mulling it over.

His first meeting was at 9:00, with his Imperial Majesty. The Kaiser entered with a wry expression, and the Chancellor raised an eyebrow. "Bearing bad news so early in the morning?"

"Not bad, I'd say—just a bit outside of our plans."

"Oh? How much outside?"

The king passed him a letter. "The Prince of Munichen has gotten married."

"My, so quickly? And to whom?"

"See for yourself."

He read the letter through, and then began to chuckle. The Kaiser looked pleasantly surprised by this. "I expected it to put you into a temper, Otto, I won't lie."

"Oh, well _played, _young Prince Reizend." The Chancellor shook his head. "That's a man to keep an eye on."

"Indeed."

"I was wondering how the kingdom was keeping itself adrift with that doddering old fool at the helm; now we know who really minds the throne of Munichen. My, my, marrying a girl of their own lower nobility. Well, our fine young ladies did their best, I'm sure…"

"At least he didn't marry an ally of the House of Weiss. The Munichens are Traditionalist by religion; this could have gone a lot worse for us."

"True. I imagine he's watching which way the winds will blow; we'll simply have to wait for Munichen's support." He reviewed the letter again and chuckled. "Look at this. A precious slipper; a hunt through the kingdom—the girl knows her fairy tales. I don't suppose there's any mention of magic hazel trees or helpful blackbirds?"

"I'm afraid not. Though there _were_ two stepsisters, as it happens."

The Chancellor laughed aloud this time. _"Clever_ girl! That's certainly one way to catch a prince's eye—and the whole kingdom is in an ecstasy of romance over the affair, I'm sure. It seems we'll have to keep an eye on both of them, then. Well, we'll send them a wedding gift—perhaps a pair of golden slippers?" The Kaiser chuckled. "Any other news of note?"

"I'm afraid not. Actually, I was hoping you had some good fortune to share."

"Ruthinia won't interfere. We're still waiting on word from either Dun Broch or Francia."

"'Either?'"

"If one agrees to leave the matter well enough alone, the other won't want to be the lone man out." His Kaiser nodded thoughtfully. "I have high hopes for Dun Broch; however, nothing is certain…"

"You've arranged the matter well."

"Perhaps. But a gamble is always a gamble."

The Kaiser nodded and stood. "I'm afraid I must get back. By the way, I hear your boy Nikolaus is visiting home from school this evening?"

"Yes; he'll be along for dinner around seven. I'm sure Charlotte would be delighted if you can attend."

"Expect us around half-past; I'm afraid I have meetings until seven."

_"Mein Kaiser."_ The Chancellor bowed, and the king left.

He sent word home to Charlotte about the dinner, and then spent much of the day completing paperwork and meeting with members of the _Versammlung _about legislative matters; pleasantly, a new member arrived with a box of fine cigars—a compliment, from the man's behavior, rather than an insult. The Chancellor marked his face; that was a man certain to be useful.

Around noon, news arrived from Francia—this time personally delivered by Ambassador Leroux. The man gave a great sniff as he sat down in the leather armchair. "Ambassador," von Eisen said politely, ignoring the slight. "We are glad to have you back in Cölln-Bärlin. How is the Emperor?"

"His Imperial Majesty is in the peak of health, _mercí. _He has sent me with word regarding the League's most regrettable invasion of Ratzeburg."

"Has he," said the Chancellor, unable to keep the irritation from his tone; "invasion" and "most regrettable" had already made the Francian Emperor's opinion quite clear.

"_Oui." _He cleared his throat and handed over a stamped and sealed letter, the wax bearing the coat of arms of the dynasty of Bête—a rose flanked by the horns of a crescent moon. "Francia condemns the invasion in the strongest possible terms, and warns the League against further incursions into Southern territory, particularly as regards the Duchy of Schwarzenbek."

"The League has noted their concerns."

Leroux waited a moment, watching the perfectly calm face of the Teutonian statesman. Von Eisen looked back serenely. At last, the Francian blinked. "Well!" He stood. "I wish you a good afternoon, Chancellor."

"And yourself, Ambassador Leroux."

The door closed behind him, and the Teutonian sighed. "Damn!" He turned to look out the window; within a minute, he saw the Ambassador's carriage—_My word, you'd think the man was royalty—_pull up in front of the _palais_ and the man be escorted inside. He watched it drive off. _So, they sent the ambassador in person to deliver the news, did they? Then they've almost certainly told Dun Broch by telegram two days ago. _That was indeed a worrisome prospect; if the High King and Queen had been considering their next move this long, that meant they were seriously considering joining Francia's protest—and possibly that protest would become something more than mere angry press clippings.

Had the House of Bête read the writing on the wall? –No, certainly not; they were merely being reactionary. They couldn't even tell what was good for them and what wasn't; it was merely his misfortune that a broken clock was still right twice a day. _Damn them, and their fool of an Emperor. _Von Eisen would never have gone directly against the will of his own Kaiser, of course—but countries were often run as much by the king's secretary as by the king. He chuckled grimly to himself; woe betide Francia and her Emperor, who fired any secretary who started to look too competent.

Still, the damage had to be contained. He called his secretary. "Tell me," he said, pacing, "is the ambassador from Dun Broch still in Dùn Èideann?"

"No, sir; he arrived by train just this morning."

"Did he?"

"Yes, sir. Shall I have a message sent to him, sir?"

"No…No, I'm sure he'll come to see me soon enough. Whenever his messenger boy arrives, clear whatever hour on the schedule he wishes."

"Shall I move the appointments to the seven-o-clock hour, sir?"

He debated that a moment, and then decided against it. "No; have it moved to tomorrow, early."

"Sir." The secretary left, and he paced again. _So, the ambassador is in Cölln-Bärlin...then they've already made a decision. _That was better news than he thought. He returned to his desk to continue his paperwork. The ambassador would come at his own good pleasure.

* * *

At three that afternoon, he was proven right; the ambassador's messenger boy had arrived asking for a meeting at five-o-clock and was granted it. Von Eisen mulled the possibilities. He knew Dun Broch would be wary of the League gaining Corona's access to the North Sea, which meant of course he could not build any further ports on the coast—for a while, at any rate. But, hopefully, they could see the benefit of having the League as an ally. At five-o-clock, there came a knock at his door.

"Come in."

The ambassador from Dun Broch entered the office. He was a stiff, gray man in a gray suit with a gray mustache. Von Eisen stood and extended a hand; the ambassador shook it and took his seat.

"Good afternoon, Ambassador. May I offer you a drink?"

"No, thank you."

_No, I didn't think you would. _The ambassador was not a teetotaler, but he was so thoroughly rigid he may as well have been. "No trouble. How may I help you?"

"I have a letter from the High King and Queen."

"Oh? I must admit I'm surprised; I was expecting a telegraph."

"Sir." The ambassador was not a man who understood the word "surprise." _Now that, _thought von Eisen with irony, _is a secretary so secretarial he has never even dreamed of being a king. _He accepted the letter the ambassador passed him, watching the man carefully.

"I don't suppose they've told you the contents, Ambassador?" he prompted, after a moment.

"They have. In brief, their Majesties do not intend to involve Dun Broch in the internal affairs of the German states."

There was a brief pause; then von Eisen inclined his head. "Give my regards to the High King and Queen."

"Sir."

The ambassador left, and he read the letter; amidst the flowery and formal lines, the same message was related as the ambassador had promised: Dun Broch would not interfere. Thoroughly pleased, the Chancellor asked the secretary whether General von Helm were available for a meeting. A messenger was sent out, who returned and informed the secretary who informed him, that the General had been called out of the office for the day.

"He was called out of the office? Did he give notice of why?"

"No, sir."

"I see…well, bring a message to his house; tell him I wish to meet with him tomorrow early, eight-o-clock if he's able."

"Yes, sir. Is there anything else, sir?"

"Yes…yes, tell me, do I have any further appointments?"

"No, sir; the young lord of Bremmerberg cancelled his six-o-clock."

"Excellent." He put on his hat. "I'm going home early. Take the rest of the evening off."

"Sir!"

"And take the unopened bottle of brandy in my case home to your family." He turned a very slight smile on the aghast secretary. "Tonight is a night to celebrate."

"O-Of course, sir…"

A cab was hailed and brought him home; when he arrived, the housekeeper told him Charlotte was downstairs in the kitchen. In their manor back in the countryside of Eisen they had a full team of servants to help with dinners, but in Cölln-Bärlin they were unfortunately a bit short-staffed. Even in Eisen their house was not overlarge compared to that of some of the more prominent lords of the Germanic kingdoms; the Chancellor may have been a prince in title, but he had acquired far more influence through parliamentary ascent than any of his ancestors ever had through princedom.

When he got downstairs he saw his wife bantering with the cook, a dusting of flour on her nose. He smiled and then strode forward, sweeping her up into his arms and spinning her. Charlotte let out a shriek which quickly turned into laughter. "Otto!" He set her down, and she grinned up at him. "You're in a fine mood."

"The best of moods, _mein perle."_

Her eyes sparkled as they widened. "Don't tell me–"

"We have the backing of both Ruthinia and Dun Broch. There will be no interference."

"Oh, my brilliant husband. Haven't you learned by now not to doubt yourself?"

"One of these days, Charlotte, I shall learn to believe you. Where are the children?"

"Adelheide is upstairs getting ready. Nikolaus's train should be arriving just about now…"

"Excellent. Ida!" The cook curtsied. "Break out the 1846 vintage; we will be toasting with the Kaiser tonight."

* * *

The dinner was pushed back to half-seven, so as not to start before the Kaiser's arrival. It was an intimate affair, just between the two families. "Good evening, Chancellor," said the Crown Princes's wife, Kornelia, warmly. "My, but it's cold for March."

"Princess Kornelia. Yes, I think that's the lingering effects of the Arendellian queen's little gift."

"Wasn't it just wonderful?" Princess Louisa-Rose sighed, sweeping in the door. "Oh, Adelheide, I have the most marvelous thing to show you; look at this darling little music box–"

The von Eisens made their bows and curtsies as the Kaiser entered, and then Charlotte escorted them to the dining room, where the chandelier sparkling with candles and the fireplace lit against the March chill. Nikolaus was waiting for them there, and made a very proper bow to the king, looking to his father for approval as he rose. The Chancellor gave him a nod, and his son smiled proudly.

"Tell me, Nikolaus, how are you enjoying school?" Kornelia asked as they began their meal, and the thirteen-year-old boy launched into a description of academy life, while Louisa-Rose and Adelheide discussed in painstaking detail the imperial princess's tea with the visiting monarchs of Arendelle.

"The wine is excellent," the Kaiser said quietly under the cover of the conversation. "I presume everything has gone to plan?"

"Remarkably so, your Imperial Majesty. We have the support of Dun Broch—provided we win, that is–"

"Mm."

"–And Francia will not interfere."

"Excellent."

"Father, really, no politics at the table," the Crown Prince chided the Kaiser with a laugh, and there was a hearty chuckle around the room. Von Eisen took a drink from his wine, noting the reaction. The Crown Prince was, he knew, not his greatest admirer, but that was no trouble; he'd win the man over in time.

They finished the meal some hour and a half later, and then they were served with the desert: a _mille-feuille._ "Oh my," said Princess Kornelia, delighted. "We haven't had this in ages…"

"When Otto told me you were coming, I asked Ida to make it." Charlotte looked to the king. "I remember it was the Empress's favorite."

"It was," he said with a faint, sad smile. "She discovered it on our honeymoon in Paris and insisted the royal chef learn how to prepare it."

"We do so miss the Empress. She had such a way of lighting up the room…"

The Kaiser's eyes had misted over. "She would have loved to hear you call her that. 'The Empress.'" He gave a wistful sigh. "Luiza believed so much in our dream…she believed in the Empire before nearly anyone else did, except perhaps you, Otto."

The Crown Prince handed his father a kerchief. The Kaiser smiled at him sadly. "She was the first person who saw what we had all missed. She told me, 'Friederich, you fool, you can't send a man like that to Ruthinia any more than you'd send your best hunting hound to the pound.' She was right, of course; who knows what would have happened had I not listened to her?"

"Oh, I would have found my way back to Teutonia one way or another, your Majesty, don't you worry," von Eisen chuckled ruefully.

"She believed in you, Otto—and she believed in the Empire. Not a weak conglomerate ruled by the House of Weiss, no, but an empire, a _people. _A _unified people, _who could hold our heads up high among the powers of the world! No more would we be overlooked and pushed aside, no more would the Germanic kingdoms be the trampled battleground of other empires! She saw what our people _could_ be, she saw…"

The King trailed off, unfolded the kerchief and dabbed at his eyes. "I am….sorry," he sighed. "I certainly didn't mean to damper the mood." His granddaughter took his hand, tears gleaming in her own eyes.

"We miss her too, Grandfather."

The Kaiser smiled at her and patted her hand. "Darling girl."

"To the Empress," von Eisen said quietly, raising his glass.

"To the Empress," everyone murmured, and toasted their late queen.

The mood grew cheerier again after that; they retreated to the parlor for coffee and brandy (Nikolaus looked delighted to be given a small amount of his own) and Adelheide recreated impromptu the magic music-box's tune on the piano, complete with chords. Everyone was having such a pleasant time that when the butler entered to pull him aside, the Chancellor nearly wanted to refuse. "Yes? What is it?"

"Sir," the butler said quietly, "General von Helm has arrived. He's insisting on speaking to you immediately."

"Immediately? It can't wait?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"Darling, what is it?" Charlotte asked softly from the sofa beside him.

"I'm not certain. Charlotte, I'm terribly sorry..."

But the gentleness to her smile when she shook her head told him she understood.

* * *

General Ludwig von Helm was waiting for him in his office when he arrived at the, now quiet and empty, House of the Diet. He rose as the Chancellor entered, his helmet under one arm. "My word," von Eisen remarked. "You look ready for a parade."

"The Duke of Weseldorf asked me to make a last-minute appearance for some of the men heading north. I have been told it helps morale."

"Did he," von Eisen said, rolling his eyes. "Well, I suppose it couldn't be helped; Weseldorf is supplying the bulk of our men. Please, be seated." He watched the general curiously as the man sat down. "I don't believe you've called me here just to tell me you've been galavanting about in plume and horse to help morale.

"Indeed not. Your message said you've heard word from Ruthinia, Francia and Dun Broch?"

"The Tzarina has promised her neutrality. Francia is protesting, but it's sure to be a lot of empty noise and little more."

"Are you certain?"

"The ambassador from Dùn Èideann has said that the High King and Queen will not interfere with the 'internal matters of German states.' Meaning that if the war is successful, Dun Broch will say it was obliged to not interfere with the League's internal concerns; if it goes ill–" he chuckled, "–well, then we will be decried as invaders. Which of course means that the affair will soon be in your hands, my friend."

"Sooner than you think, Otto. This just arrived from the front." He pulled a telegram from the inside of his coat. Von Eisen read it and raised his eyebrows.

"I see."

"The farmer died immediately from his wounds, apparently. The Southerners attempted to cover it up but were caught by a patrol of our own men. Hostilities developed; by the end of it, nine of our boys and six of theirs were dead."

"So they shot a Germanic citizen," von Eisen said, rubbing his chin. "That certainly sounds like the act of an aggressor."

"Do we have an assurance of the neutrality of Arendelle and the Prince?"

"Arendelle, yes. As for the prince…" He mulled it over. "I believe so, yes—or to be more accurate, I believe the Queen will ensure his neutrality for us."

"Belief is not as sure as certainty."

"No, but I doubt the man will give up such a fortuitous marriage merely to help his brother—certainly not after the lengths he's gone to to put himself on the throne of Arendelle. And the Queen will not be moved."

"I still believe we should have sent someone other than Weseldorf and attempted to persuade Arendelle to our cause."

But the Chancellor shook his head. "No. The Queen was never going to side with either of us if it meant even the possibility of using her magic against civilians. The important point was to entrench her _sympathies_ firmly in the idea of neutrality. To that end, the Duke was marvelously useful. Once she believed in it wholeheartedly, all I had to do was request that she persuade her betrothéd to do the same."

"Weseldorf is abrasive; he could have pushed her into the arms of the Southern Isles."

"Against Corona? That is doubtful. Arendelle was never a threat; the essential matter was to ensure that the prince does not ally with his brother."

"Do you think it will succeed?"

"I suggested she hold the kingdom over his head. That ought to persuade the lad."

The General peered at his old friend with admiration and not a little envy. "You never cease to amaze me, Otto."

"My work here is done; I hand the matter of the duchies off to you, my friend. Champagne?"

"Yes, thank you." Von Eisen fetched the bottle from the case, pouring two flutes of the bubbling wine, and Von Helm took his glass in hand. "Well, to what shall we drink this fine spring evening?"

The Chancellor thought for a moment, and then lifted his flute. "To the empire to come."

"To the empire."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

**The Biblical material is from Ruth 1:15-17, from the _Stjorn _(the collection of Old Norse translations of parts of the Old Testament). You can find an online copy of the _Stjorn at _www. archive. org [slash] details [slash] stjorngammelnor00ungegoog [slash] mode [slash] 2up . Turn to page 444 for the quote from Ruth. ****For a description of historically accurate ancient Viking courtship rituals, some of which are used here, see vikinganswerlady. com [slash] wedding. shtml, Sections V:B,C.**

**Finally, _"Lex iniusta non est lex"_ is a legal maxim, translating roughly to "an unjust law is no law at all," first attributed to St. Augustine. See Augustine's _De Libero Arbitrio _I.5, Aquinas's _Summa Theologiae, _I-II, q. 95 a. 2.**

* * *

The sisters disembarked the ship at sunset in the March evening; an unusually warm, humid wind was whipping the ropes and flags, the taste of rain full and rich like wine in the air. The queen passed her suitcase to the waiting Kai as thunderheads roiled threateningly on the sea's horizon, cutting the sickly-gold light of the sunset with indigo, and sighed in relief when she felt solid ground under her feet. They'd beaten the storm in, and she was grateful.

Kristoff was waiting for them, dressed in his nicer working clothes and a wool vest; he'd clearly been with the council earlier in the day. He gave his wife a great bear hug and inquired after the baby, and then turned to the queen. She saw the bad news on his face before he had even opened his mouth.

"He hasn't come back, has he."

The crown prince shook his head. His wife turned to peer at her sister anxiously.

"Elsa…"

The queen didn't respond immediately, her eyes and expression distant in the lurid gold light. But there was frost creeping over the pier.

"Elsa–?"

"He's made his decision." She turned to face them; the unseasonably warm wind from the storm was pulling her bun loose, and her eyes seemed to glitter. "I won't hear a word against him for it. He had to choose between his loyalties; it was an unenviable position and he did what he had to. Kai, have my case brought to my room."

"Elsa, wait–"

"I'm sorry, Anna, but I'd really rather be alone right now." Her voice finally wavered on the last sentence as she passed them by, and then the princess was left to watch her sister stride straight-backed and stiff towards the castle with a pace just a beat too quick to be polite.

* * *

The tears had run out hours ago, leaving behind only the dead sickly weight of loss and, repressed beneath it, a blunt-edged anger. She couldn't sleep, but she couldn't get up the energy to light the candle, either. The queen watched the night sky grow darker and darker with the lashing rain and listened to the thunder, waiting for it to eventually lighten and demand she go be a queen again. The clock ticking on her mantle told her it was quarter past one; she had hours to go until daylight.

_He betrayed you again…He turned his back on you, after all his promises…_

The queen sat up and rubbed her head. That wasn't fair, and she knew it wasn't fair. The temptation to devolve into private wrath and self-pity was strong, but it wouldn't be honest and it would only make things worse in the morning, so she resisted it and made herself a glass of ice water to soothe her headache.

As she banished the glass back into snow, a sound caught her ears through the window-pane, and she paused. After a moment, it came again: the grind-squeak of the gates opening down below.

_A visitor at this hour? No, I won't see them; whoever it is it can wait until morning… _But she heard the sound of carriage wheels and the trod of horse's hooves on the courtyard cobbles below, and with a sigh she got up and looked out the window. There was a carriage in the courtyard, and not a very nice one; the wheels were covered with mud from the road, and the horse's legs, too. Through the lash of the rain she peered at the scene; Kai had hurried out into the rain to greet the driver and the passenger—

Then her eyes looked down through the window of the carriage, and saw the head of auburn hair and the white sliver of paper from the book on his lap, and her heart caught in her throat.

She threw on her dressing-robe and tore from the room, tripping and having to go back for her left slipper before dashing down the stairs, frost fractaling in her wake. "Wake Anna! Wake Kristoff!" she gasped at the startled Gerda as she passed her on the steps.

"M'lady-!"

But the queen was already down the stairs and down the hall. The great doors to the courtyard were open, the rain and wind driving in and flooding the carpet, and she paused against the doorframe, suddenly filled with doubt: _what if it weren't–_

But then Kai opened the carriage door, and she saw his face.

The passenger stepped out of the carriage and stumbled, as if weariness and lack of use had made his legs weak, and the queen caught him by the shoulders. He looked down at her in surprise.

"Elsa. I didn't think you'd be up–"

And then she was kissing him, her fingers dug sharply into his overcoat and the rain turning to snow on his hair.

They parted at the sound of Kai closing the carriage door, both flushing at the unintended show of passion. The queen took the moment to look him over properly. He was certainly looking worse for wear, dressed in his wool overcoat, unshaven and with a dog-tired look in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Fine—well, no, not really, but I'm not ill or injured."

"You're back later than we expected…"

"Things didn't go well in the Isles. My brother's in a panic, and I got waylaid in the Eastern Mountains–"

"The Eastern Mountains? But why–"

"I'll explain inside. Also, we really need to lay rail lines here," he said, with all the grumpiness of a man who has had days to ruminate on a grievance.

"Let's get you inside, out of the rain…"

They hurried back to the castle, where they found Anna and Kristoff waiting, dressed in their night-clothes and rubbing their eyes. "You're back," Anna said, yawning. "I knew you would be." She wrinkled her nose. "Also, no offense, but you kind of smell."

Hans flushed darker. "I've been stuck in a carriage for three days; trust me, you wouldn't smell so rosy either."

"Why don't we talk in the library," Elsa suggested. "You can tell us your story then; and we can tell you what happened in Cölln-Bärlin."

"Beg pardon?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know…"

They gathered in the library as the clocktower was tolling a muffled half-past through the rain. Elsa was running her fingers through her hair, rebraiding it anxiously; Anna scooted sleepily back into the comfiest armchair, her bump showing through the material of her nightgown while Kristoff draped her dressing gown over her as he sat down, leaning forward intently. The queen watched the prince pace anxiously around the room until they were ready, looking at the various knick-knacks and model ships without really seeing them, his book of Germanic _märchen_ in hand.

"You say you went to Cölln-Bärlin?" Hans demanded as soon as they were all seated.

"Not all of us," Anna corrected. "Kristoff stayed behind to manage things here; the Duke of Weselton came a few days after you left–"

"_Weselton?"_

"–to invite us to Cölln-Bärlin. He made it sound like the League wanted Elsa to use her magic on their behalf in the war."

Hans nodded tersely. "I expected that to happen sooner or later."

"So did we," Elsa agreed. "But when we arrived, the Chancellor informed us that Weselton had...misspoken."

"'_Misspoken'_ how?"

"As it happens, the League wants Arendelle to agree to remain neutral."

She saw every muscle in his body tense, his shoulders moving under his shirtsleeves. "And?"

"I said we would, provided war was actually declared." The obvious relief in his posture as the muscles relaxed almost caught the next words in her mouth: "And I've been tasked with convincing you to do the same."

She knew by the sharp look he gave her that she'd made the right choice in being honest. Hans hated being manipulated almost as much as he (half-guiltily) enjoyed manipulating others; he would have been far angrier had she tried to fool him. "Were you."

"I was. And I'm going to try. But not because the Chancellor asked me to."

There were a long few moments of silence. Then he said, "You don't know here, do you." At their expressions, he said, "It happened yesterday morning. When did you two arrive?"

"We got in this evening."

"Then word must not have reached Arendelle yet, or your council would have told you."

"Told me what?"

He opened the book of fairy tales and retrieved what turned out to be a folded-up Eastern newspaper, evening edition yesterday last. She took it and scanned the headlines. Conflict had broken out on the Schwarzenbek-Ratzeburg border, and the League had declared open war.

"It says the Southern soldiers killed an armed Germanic civilian," Anna said, standing to peer over her shoulder. "But it doesn't say who fired first." Hans shrugged.

"History rarely does. Anyway, it wouldn't matter; once the line's been crossed there's no going back. War exists, wherever the responsibilities may lie."

"So there's no way out of it, then. The Isles and Corona are going to war." The prince nodded. "Are you okay?" Anna asked with genuine concern, sitting down again.

"That...depends." He turned his gaze back to the queen, his voice as cool as her ice: "Why does the Chancellor want Arendelle to remain neutral?"

"It's not a matter of our armies–"

"I didn't think it would be."

"–But of you and I personally. He says he would prefer an even playing field without magic involved."

"You mean he doesn't want magic involved on behalf of the Southern Isles," Hans corrected.

"It's more than that." The prince raised his eyebrows. "He fears if I were to alienate the Southern people by using my magic against them it would undermine the good work your brother has done there in the last three years."

Hans snorted. "Don't tell me he cares about that."

"He cares about the Southerners not rising up against the monarchy," Elsa said sharply. "He thinks it might give the Germanic peasants ideas."

"And you agree with him?" he said, with a sarcastic smile. "Why, my liberal Aristotelian, don't tell me you've had a change of heart."

"_Don't_ start with me, Hans." Her tone was enough to wipe the smirk off his face. "I didn't say my reasons were his reasons. But I've made my decision and I think you should do the same."

There was a long, tense silence while each stared the other down. Not taking his eyes from her, the prince said, "Anna, Kristoff, would you mind leaving us for the moment?"

"Why?" said Anna suspiciously.

"Because your sister and I are going to have a fight."

The pair read the room, and left it. When the door closed behind them, the queen and prince watched each other a moment longer, before he, to her surprise, relented first, stood, and went to the fireplace. "It's cold," he said abruptly. "May I?"

"Mm."

He lit the fire and then leaned against the mantle a moment, setting the book on the ledge. She noted again the rings under his eyes. "You need rest."

"Haven't gotten much sleep," he muttered, peering into the flames. "Haven't seen a real bed in days. And nightmares."

She bit her tongue. For the most part Hans was a rational man, if it a bit emotional, but eighteen months in isolation had taken a psychological toll that still hadn't fully healed; under stress, he often suffered from increasingly violent nightmares until he was able to stop repressing the emotional repercussions of the situation and deal with them in his waking hours. "Maybe we should wait until you've had some rest–"

"No, we're finishing this now," he said flatly, turning back around. "I'll sleep when I've made a decision."

_Well, that doesn't sound healthy. _Her heart felt tight and suspended within her; he was here, flesh and blood, in the light of the fire—and yet he wasn't. The man was there, her betrothéd was not. The indecision in the restlessness of his movements and expression made it clear he had not landed to stay but to perch.

"Why did you come back to Arendelle if you intend to fight with the Isles?" she asked, when he didn't speak again.

"I didn't say I was going to."

"Then why were you–"

"Because I didn't anticipate a homecoming where my fiancée was being employed as the Chancellor's messenger girl."

Stung and offended, she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. He looked guilty almost as soon as he'd said it. "Then it's a good thing I'm not your fiancée anymore, isn't it?"

It was his turn to appear hurt, and he looked away. Uncomfortable, she tightened her arms and watched out the window. Rain was still slicking the glass like crystal beads.

"...You're right, you're not." The ring in his breast-pocket seemed heavier than it should have been, and he drew a deep breath through his nose. "Things aren't going well in the Isles," he said. "They have no allies. They're outmatched by the League in men, arms and speed; they've received confirmation that the League has two ironclads in their possession."

"_Two?"_ He nodded. "My word…"

"I am their last…best hope." He exhaled a bitter half-laugh. "And Agnar let me escape—and Elsa, please, you can never breathe a word of that. They'd have his head if it were found out."

"Escape? Were you being held prisoner?"

"Not yet, but the situation was deteriorating quickly. That was why I was in the Eastern Mountains; Agnar tipped me off that the trade ships to and from Arendelle were being searched for spies, so I had to go another way." Hans began to pace. "It was an act of mercy, but publicly he's certain to call me back on pain of court martial, or at any rate his council is; I'm surprised you haven't received angry correspondence about that already, frankly."

"Are you going to go back?"

He looked at her, briefly, green eyes flickering away.

"I don't know. I just knew I couldn't make my decision there."

"If you're this troubled over it, don't you think that's a sign your conscience is objecting to it?"

"Do you think I want to do this?" he demanded. "Do you think I have some sort of– of sadistic _wish_ to burn people alive?"

"I never s–"

"Because I don't! Difficult as you and everyone else apparently find it to believe, I don't take any particular joy in seeing people suffer! This isn't something I _want_ to do, it's something I _have_ to do!"

The distress welling up under the thin veneer of anger made her draw back, surprised. Sparks were following in his wake; the fire burned dangerously high. "Do you have any idea what they think about us? About me, about my family?" he rambled, half to himself. "Opportunists, they call us! Warmongers! What do you want me to do, Elsa, prove them right? Run away to Arendelle while my kingdom pays the price?"

That stung, although he probably hadn't intended it to; she looked internally, wondering if her penchant for running away from unpleasantness—of retreating inward, to the safety of isolation—hadn't blinded her to her duties again. But then she recalled her discussion with Queen Arianna, and exactly _why_ she had rejected placing her magic into the League's hands. Ignoring the right course of action simply because it catered to one's personal flaws was no better than succumbing to them.

When she looked outward again, the prince had stopped pacing and was staring at the fire. For a moment—for just a moment—she was tempted to tell him about the unsubtle attack on his character Prince Roffe had levied in front of the Chancellor and the Teutonian court. Hans's reputation meant a great deal to him; if she presented to him an alternative view, the suggestion that _not_ maintaining his neutrality would damage his public image more than fighting with the Isles, it would go far in convincing him.

But instead, she held her tongue, and waited. At last, he spoke again, this time in a quieter tone.

"Elsa...you know how desperate I was, and frankly still am, to become king of Arendelle." She nodded with a hint of irony. "And that's a genuine desire. But in my heart…in the depths of my heart, what I've always wanted was to be king of the Southern Isles."

He turned, and she saw the dangerously angry, dangerously _noble_ expression that had filled his face.

"Every _week_ as a child, I went with my mother to her charity kitchen. I saw how our people lived. They flocked to those dinners in _droves. _We and the rest of the nobility, we took _everything_ from them, to fatten up _ourselves."_ His lip had curled in disgust. "My family is descended from the likes of Beowulf and Holger—the greatest kings in history! And we were acting like the _worst_ of tyrants! If I'd been king, I could have helped them! If I'd just been born first, not the lowly thirteenth, I could have undone what my father and grandfather did! I could have restored our family's honor and given our people back their dignity!"

She watched him silently. As his ire faded, he let out a sigh.

"As you well know, that desire was eventually corrupted into an obsessive need to become king—anywhere I could. To prove that I could do _better_ than my father and brothers." Hans paced away, turning his back to her again as he went to the window. "But my people, my _homeland, _were never far from my mind," he continued. "How can I turn my back on them now? Let other young men die while I hide away safely in a foreign kingdom? Elsa, I have to go back. I have to stand with my people."

"Because it's the right thing to do, the prudent thing? Or because you don't want to face the accusations of being a coward?" She saw his back stiffen. "Because you want to be their hero?"

Several moments of silence passed. She waited.

"...That was low."

"It was relevant," she said quietly. Hans didn't answer, and she looked at the nearest bookshelves, feeling somewhat guilty for having called him out. The philosophy section to her left seemed the most appropriate, with its dusty old tomes, the ancient books of law and the newly reshelved copy of Averroes' commentary…

"_Himmelenvelsignet."_

She saw the way his head turned slightly, and knew that he'd heard.

"We _can't, _Hans."

A pause. Then, a long sigh.

"It's not just this war, is it?" he asked quietly, turning around. Elsa shook her head.

"Once that possibility is out of the box, it can't be put back in." She ran her finger along the spine of the book. "We were given these powers to support the common good, not to rain down the wrath of God in every European conflict to come along. We don't have that right."

"If we insisted on fighting on our own terms, in moderation…"

"Don't fool yourself." Her soft admonition was enough to still his objections. "If we do this once, they will ask us to do it again. And _again. _Can we really believe it won't eventually escalate to something monstrous?"

"No," he said heavily. "No. I know we can't." He looked at the window as if to catch a glimpse of the North Sea beyond the lashing rain. "But I have my orders, I have a duty to my country…"

"_Lex iniusta non est lex._ And besides, you can't help the Isles by subverting the very standards of just warfare." Ariana's advice flashed through her mind: "Compromising those standards, even for an honest cause, sets a dangerous precedent—one neither of us can afford."

"Perhaps," he sighed. "But you know as well as I that the world won't _see_ it that way."

Elsa gave no reply to that. His craving of public honor was his own cross to bear, and his fear of reinjuring his reputation his own price to pay. She saw the moment he relented, the half-slump, half-relief of his shoulders as he leaned against the nearest bookshelf with a sigh and a tired nod.

"Alright. Alright, you win; you've convinced me." She felt almost obliged to apologize, but before she could, he was back to his old practical self: "What do we do? I can't very well just tell the navy one of their admirals has run away; Arendelle would be harboring a deserter."

"Then I'll make you a citizen here."

He shook his head. "The Southern Isles don't have laws for recognizing that. I can't just _give up_ my citizenship there; even a commoner couldn't do that, let alone a prince." He laughed bitterly. "Now, if they wanted to exile me, well…"

She sighed and looked around the library, as if hoping one of the hundreds of books would have some insight. _Of course, I could hardly read them all tonight even if one did…_ At the far end of the room was the piano and her father's portrait, and the table with its knick-knacks. A hazy memory of looking up at that painting, the candlestick and the potpourri vase in hand, fluttered through her mind.

Hans looked up as he heard her move. She was walking towards the fireplace, her footsteps slow and even, as if she were sleepwalking. "Elsa?"

She had reached the fireplace, and he watched her fiddling with something on the mantle; perhaps it was the book. The flames in the hearth curled protectively away from her skirt as he approached, curious. "What are you doing?"

"We need to make you a citizen of Arendelle. And not only a citizen, but a citizen whose first loyalty is to _this_ kingdom, not the Southern Isles. A loyalty no one would dare dispute."

"What do you suggest?"

She turned. In her hands he saw a gilt medallion in the shape of a concave-edged cross, hung upon a worn red ribbon. In the center of the medal was the embossed print of a crocus flower.

"...That's an Order of the Crocus medal."

"I know."

"Only members of the royal family of Arendelle are allowed to wear it."

Elsa's face was grave. "I know."

His mouth had gone dry. He knew where she'd gotten it, because he had looked into the box on the mantle before. He knew, too, who had last worn it. "Elsa, no…"

She was approaching him solemnly, her expression more appropriate to if she were at a funeral. Perhaps, in her own way, she was. "No," Hans said again, shaking his head. "Elsa– you don't want to do that, I'm not– people will think–"

She took his hand, which despite his protestations did not resist, and pressed her father's medallion into his palm as she descended to a knee. The fabric of her dressing gown rustled as it folded over the carpet; the cross, so recently removed from the mantle, felt warm to the touch.

"Marry me. Tonight."

There was a long silence, in which only the crackling of the fire behind them could be heard.

"…I will."

* * *

The preparations were simple; the hour, late. The congregation, sitting in hushed expectation, consisted of the castle servants, the queen's council, and the head editor and photographer of the _Arnadalr Herald, _rubbing sleep from their eyes and yawning after being awoken at an unholy hour to document the event. The youngest of Hans's older brothers (and the only one, in his opinion, who could be trusted) had been brought up from the dungeons to serve as a witness for the Isles. All told, the chapel was not even a quarter full; the need to keep the event absolutely secret—from spies, from potential assassins, from any interference at all—until morning meant that there could be no grand celebration of the marriage, only a quiet elopement by candlelight.

In the narthex of the chapel the royal family and the man who was about to join their number were waiting to be called inside. Elsa had stepped outside for the moment to create her dress ("Un_fair,"_ Anna had sighed jealously) leaving the groom-to-be with the crown prince and princess. "I can't tell; is the medal straight?" he asked, peering down with a frown.

"I got it." Anna, looking as lovely as springtime itself in a green maternity gown, her red hair loose over her shoulders, adjusted the Order of the Crocus medallion. "There. I gotta say, you look better in our uniform than the Southern Isles'."

"Thank you…" He ran his finger anxiously along the nordic collar.

"Nervous?" Kristoff asked.

"Petrified," he admitted.

"You'll be okay." Kristoff clapped his shoulder, and the prince couldn't help but smile. "Just don't lock your knees or you'll pass out."

"I'll bear it in mind. My sword?"

Kristoff made to hand it to him, and then paused. The prince met his eyes, and an understanding passed between them: as crown prince, Kristoff had been holding onto a lot of power—more, in fact, than anyone of his heritage or class had ever held in the kingdom. As the only common-born man among them, he had good reason to care who his new ruler would be. Hans gave him a small nod, unnoticed by the princess, to show he understood. Kristoff handed off the sword without another word.

"Elsa better hurry up," Anna said, peering at the door. "We'll be starting any minute…"

That was right; it was nearly time. Hans took a deep breath; this wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was something he had to do before he could get married in good conscience. "Anna."

"Hmm?" She raised her eyebrows and then saw the grave expression on his face. "Oh. Are we being serious now? Sorry." She schooled her face into an _almost_ appropriately solemn expression.

Perhaps it had been her goal to set him at ease, and if so it worked. "Anna," he began again, this time repressing a smile, "One final time…I'm asking for your forgiveness. A long time ago I promised I would marry you. I regret to say I won't be fulfilling that promise."

The princess's face softened. "Don't be silly. I forgave you a long time ago; you're basically family now already."

"Thank you. Truly. You have no idea what that means to me."

They shared a smile, and then she waved her hand. "And besides, I'm married! I can't exactly hold you to a promise like that!"

"You could," he pointed out, but with a twitch in his mouth. "You could make me wait until you're ninety years old–"

"Oh, hush."

"–And Kristoff's dead and you're a widow–"

"Hang on, Kristoff's not allowed to die first!" Hans snickered and Anna grinned. "You're off the hook. Consider all your debts paid."

"All of them?"

"All of them. Except for running into me with your horse."

"Excuse you, _you_ ran into _him." _She rolled her eyes. "Thank you," he said again sincerely.

"Don't mention it."

The door opened, and the three looked over. "Is it time?" Elsa said in a hushed voice, stepping through the door and pulling her train in behind her.

"Nearly," Anna said, studying her. "Wow."

The queen blushed and smoothed her skirt, turning to her betrothéd. Hans's face had gone soft and awe-struck. "Do you like it?"

"Yes," he said softly. "Very much so, yes." The corners of her mouth twitched upwards proudly. She had the right to be; the gown was doubtlessly her best to date. It resembled her coronation gown and the fake wedding dress she had made three years ago—narrow skirt, high nordic collar, with glittering frost crystals embroidering the bodice in the emblem of a rosemåling Arendellian crocus. Now, however, additions had been made; the train stretched out behind the skirt, growing more translucent the longer it went, so that the large crystalized crocus at the end stood out as if it were embroidered in fine lace. The delicate point-cuffed sleeves had achieved the same effect. A long translucent veil fell over her face like a Strazza virgin; against so much white, her blue eyes and gentle rosy blush, and the gold-and-sapphire bridal coronet, stood out spark-bright. For what seemed an eternal moment, both were lost in admiration of the other.

The moment was broken as the clock-tower tolled half-two, and inside the chapel, the organ began to play. "I think that's our cue," Anna said. "We'll see you in there.

The doors opened, and Kristoff escorted Anna inside. The prince turned to the Queen and offered his arm. "Are you ready?" he asked quietly as she accepted it.

"Strangely…yes, I think I am."

"I'm glad." They started towards the door. "By the way," he added, "I've arranged a bit of something with Willum, I hope you don't mind."

"What sort of thing?" she asked suspiciously.

"Oh, you'll see…"

Every head turned, and every guest rose, as a hush fell over the chapel. The sanctuary was warm and bright; the flames of hundreds of candles, both in the sconces on the walls and hovering, waxless, in the air, reflected in glistening light off the rosemåling fronds and spirals of frost that had scrolled across the stave church's walls. Yet when their queen and the prince appeared in the doorway, not one single eye was looking at the decorations. The two entered arm-in-arm, their pace stately and slow to the organ's hymn; the candlelight shone through her veil and glittered off his epaulettes as each guest they passed saw them in profile, their gazes fixed forward, their expressions solemn with gravity.

There were laws, derived from traditions older than the kingdom itself, about the marriage of a reigning king, or in the current case queen. When they reached the altar, Bishop Willum began the wedding mass not in Latin, but in the Old Tongue. The two were sprinkled with holy water, and the groom presented his bride with the sword. He saw the suppressed smile at the irony of it in her eyes as she took the same blade which had nearly beheaded her several years prior in safekeeping for an heir, and then presented him in turn with her late father's ceremonial sword.

The mass began properly after that and they were escorted to their seats in the front pew to hear the scriptures and the sermon. As the first reading began, the prince held out his hand, eyes still fixed forward; the queen took it, and then titled her head as Bishop Willum began to read.

"_Þa m__ęllti hon vi__ð Rvth. Nv snyr Orpha aptr til favðvrhvss sins…"_

_Unusual choice for a reading,_ the queen thought, a bit surprised; she had left those hasty preparations up to her betrothéd.

"_Far nv með henne oc hirð ecki vm mik. Hon svaraði:–"_

She heard the prince draw breath, and looked up.

"_Bið ec at þv skylldir mik æigi til aftr at hverfa. Þiat fyrir vtan ef skal ec þer fylgia oc þik alldri fyrirlata. Hvar sem þv ferr __ę__ða dvelzk þa skal ec þar vera."_

Her mouth fell open. Hans did not look down at her, but his quiet murmurs, in the ancient tongue of her country, were not on a single letter incorrect: _Do not press me to go back and abandon you. Wherever you go I will go, wherever you lodge I will lodge._

"_Þinn lydr skal vera minn lyðr heðan af oc þinn gvð minn gvð."_

_Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God._

"_A hverri iorðv sem þv andaz a þæirri skal ek deyia…"_

_Where you die, I will die…_

"_...Oc hafa hinn sama graptarstað sem þv ef ek ma raða."_

_...And in that place be buried._

"_Ok þess bið ec gvð hier með at hann lati okr ecki skilia nema einn davðann."_

_May the Lord do thus and more to me, if even death separates me from you._

At last he met her gaze, and clasped her hand tighter. Tears stinging in her eyes, she received the oath with a nod, and he smiled.

* * *

The vows were exchanged in the Old Tongue, followed by the wedding bands. With his hand on her shoulder and hers on his waist, the pair exchanged a single chaste kiss captured for all posterity by the flash of the photographic magnesium. Off to the side, Anna tilted her head. "Hm."

"What's up?" Kristoff whispered.

"He didn't lift her chin. I thought for sure he would."

Her husband cast her a sideways glance. "You okay, fiestypants?"

"Who, me?" Anna watched her sister staring up into the prince's eyes with an expression that was just a shade too soft and loving to be considered regal. For just that moment, the new husband and wife seemed blissfully ignorant to the world. "'Course I am. Have you ever seen two people so destined to rule together?"

Kristoff opened his mouth to say that sure, but that was a weird way to put it—before he thought better and closed it again. Anna was right, of course. He looked at his sister-in-law and, now, his brother, as they beamed at one another—the hovering wickless candles sparkling a brighter gold around them, the materializing snow crystals glistening in the light as the other churchgoers began to shiver—and nodded.

"Yeah. We're in good hands."

Elsa and Hans, of course, noticed none of this. For that one sacrosanct moment, neither thought about the weight of kingdom or crown. They were alone together, in a world apart, admiring and admired, man and wife. And if the world looked on and the press's cameras flashed and empires rose and fell, it was as nought to them—if just for that one moment.

* * *

_"Skål,"_ Anna intoned solemnly, as the others lifted their glasses.

_"Skål."_

The other three took simultaneous sips of the akevitt and then sat in warm, companionable silence as they savored the taste of spices and heat. Elsa was the first to speak, setting her tulip glass down on the table with her free hand; her left was still clasped in Hans's own. "This may not exactly have been how I wanted this to happen," she said, looking around at them fondly, "but to be honest, I think I prefer it."

"Eh, I don't know," Anna said with a shrug. "I always figured if you guys got married, it'd be something like this."

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon. You two predictably get yourselves into trouble. Actually, I expected someone to be bleeding out or slowly dying of magical disease."

Elsa let out several silent, snorting giggles through her nose while Hans rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Thank you for that vote of confidence, Anna."

"Ah c'mon, at least one of your engagements to our family had to go through." Hans stuck his tongue out at her. "Ooh, mature. _Very_ mature."

"So what happens now?" Kristoff asked.

"Well, we have a few hours to relax." Elsa pinked as Anna waggled her eyebrows suggestively, but continued: "And then at seven-o-clock, the presses start printing…and the world will know. Depending on how things go, we'll host a ball to celebrate in a few months' time."

"And the war?"

"The _Herald_ will also report that Arendelle will be remaining neutral." She squeezed Hans's hand tight. _"All_ of Arendelle."

"I'll write a letter to my brother properly informing him of the news," Hans added. "And one should be written to Corona as well, and a third to the Chancellor."

"I'll deliver the letter to Corona," Anna volunteered. "They should receive it from me; we shouldn't add insult to injury."

Elsa nodded. Somewhere beyond the windows, the castle clock tower struck four in the morning, and she stood.

"You two need your rest. Frankly, so do we."

Anna gave her a warm hug. "Congratulations," she said sincerely, drawing away. "I'm so happy for you. You're going to have a wonderful marriage, both of you."

The newlyweds shared a smile. "Thank you, Anna," said the prince-consort gratefully. "This wouldn't have happened without you."

"I've always wanted a brother," she mused. "And now you've got a little sister. I'd say this turned out for the better."

"Goodnight," Kristoff said. "And congratulations. Arendelle's in good hands with you two."

"Thank you."

The pair left, leaving the newlyweds alone in the library. Hans gestured towards the doors. "Shall we?"

They walked quietly through the moonlit halls, arm in arm, enjoying the companionship. It was only when they reached the door of her room that Hans remembered: "I think I was supposed to carry you over the threshold."

"You still can."

"Do you want me to?" She wrinkled her nose, and he chuckled. "I'll take that as a no."

"Clever man."

Their eyes met. After so many months—years, even—of wanting this, now the moment had come, and they were both stalling. Elsa looked back to the door.

"You know, Anna used to live here with me," she murmured.

"Thank you, Elsa, your sister is exactly who I want in my mind when I'm about to make love to you."

She pinked slightly. "That's not what I meant." He raised an eyebrow at her, curious. "Just that...for the longest time, I've lived in this room alone, all by myself. Even after I let Anna back into my life, back on the other side of this door, it was still…"

"Still yours alone. A place of isolation, as much as solitude."

The queen nodded, studying the painted blue pattern of snowflakes on the door. She'd always found that ironic.

"Are you afraid?"

"Are you?" She turned, looking up into his face.

"Honestly?" he admitted. "I'm…terrified."

She felt her mouth curl into a half-gentle, half-teasing smile. "Of me?"

His eyes were green and warm—like the heart of summer. "...No," he said quietly, the same small smile mirroring on his face. "Not of you."

"Well, maybe you just haven't heard the rumors." She brushed a lock of auburn hair back on his forehead. "They say I'm terribly dangerous."

"Do they," he murmured, his smile growing.

"They say I froze over a kingdom, in a winter that promised to be endless…"

"I think I know that story. Wasn't there a wicked prince with a dark secret?"

"Several dark secrets, I think. But he stopped being so wicked eventually."

They were grinning at each other now, her cheeks dimpled, his eyes crinkling. He glanced at the door.

"...There was a time," he said, "when I believed it was better to be isolated. That I had to look out for my own interests first, since no one else would." He bit his tongue, nervous. "It's hard to trust people when dissimulation is the only way you know of getting through the world."

"Do you trust me?"

He looked down. "I should be asking you that."

"Do you really think that after all this time, I wouldn't trust you with my life?" He accepted this with a thoughtful nod. "You said, 'there was a time.' What about now?"

"Now?" he said, surprised. "Now I know loneliness is _hell._ People need other people; how you and Anna got through your childhood as functional human beings–"

"Mostly functional."

"–I'll never know." He eyed the snowflake pattern on the door again, and then, to Elsa's bewilderment, suddenly burst out laughing.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Just–" He snorted several times, trying to repress his chortles. "Just a conversation I had with Anna, a long time ago. Oh, dear…" He wiped a tear of mirth out of his eye. "She really is a lot wiser than people give her credit for."

"Yes, she is," the queen replied with a bemused smile, as the man chuckled. "Well…shall we?"

"Yes, I think we shall." As she turned the doorknob, he added: "Elsa? …You know I love you, don't you?"

He sounded almost worried, and her heart, as always, melted. "I love you too, Hans," she reassured him, and was rewarded by the glitter in his green eyes, that perfectly hesitant but entranced smile.

Then she opened the door.

* * *

"Alright, ladies and gents, this is bound to be the biggest story of your careers."

The head editor of the _Herald _surveyed his staff—ruddy-faced, sleepy-eyed, but lit up with excitement. "We're printing a thousand extra copies; people are going to be wanting this as a keepsake for their grandkiddies or to reminisce on the good old times, so I want everyone doing their best work!" Resolute nods all around; he stared them down, and then grinned. "Don't spend your bonuses all in one place."

An hour later, heat was radiating off the press as the cylinders whirred; the freshly inked sheets fed out of the machine and were tied up in bundles to be carried by the paper boys into the streets. Money changed hands; gossip flew, and one particularly eager paper boy darted into the coffeehouse and greeted a table of men and women dressed smartly in suits and suit-dresses with a gleeful: "Boy, have I got a story for you today!"

"What's happened, Jacob?"

Grinning, he showed them the paper. The picture emblazoned on the front page caused every mouth to drop.

"Give me one of those copies, boy!"

"I'll take two!"

"Ha! You'd better move quick, Rodolf!"

"My word!" The Teutonian reporter had leapt to his feet. "There's no time to write a letter; oh, _why_ doesn't this kingdom have telegraph lines yet?!"

"Who's up for a little journey to the Eastern Mountains?" said the Dun Brochish reporter, a gleam in her eye.

"I'll go in on a cab with you, Rhona."

"The _Sphère_ better be paying my costs–"

And so the news spread by carriage and then by telegraph cable across lands and seas, to the offices of newspaper editors and government ministers of every country of the world, and at last from the hand of a breathless messenger boy into the hand of Chancellor von Eisein, who read it, and smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

**A/N: ****Technically speaking, in real life, both the cities of Schwarzenbek and Ratzeburg are in the south of Schleswig-Holstein; for a rough idea of where the fantasy Schwarzenbek is, think Rendsburg, Germany. "In other news," (heh) the name Samuel Schibsted is derived from the names of two Norwegian newspaper founders: Samuel ****Conrad Schwach, founder of the _Norske Intelligenz-Seddeler_ (1763, Norway's first newspaper), and ****Christian Schibsted, founder of _Aftenposten _(1860, Norway's largest newspaper). The censoring of language in the _Dun Broch Times _is also historical.**

**In case this wasn't clear from the earlier chapters, this story does not take into account _Tangled Adventure, _although I have heard the show is excellent.**

* * *

**Àrnadalr Herold**

—Tuesday, 29 March—

**CONTENTS**

Domestic News… p. 1

–_TOP STORY: Clandestine Royal Marriage!… _p. 1 & 2

–_Interview with the Queen, Prince Johannes…_ p. 3

–_Mild Winter at Home; Hard Times Abroad: Lady Evjen's Aid Proposal to Fendoland_… p. 4

–_Ice Harvesting Season Reopens…_ p. 4

International News… p. 5

–_TOP STORY:_ _The Southern Isles at War!…_ p. 1 & 5

–_Queen Visits Cölln-Bärlin…_ p. 7

Births, Marriages, Deaths_…_ p. 8

Advertisements_…_ p. 9

BREAKING NEWS!

Queen Weds Southern Prince in Secret Midnight Ceremony!

Early this morning, following Her Majesty the Queen and the Ambassador's return from Cölln-Bärlin, and that of HRH Prince Johannes Andreas (formerly of the House of Westergaard) from the Southern Isles, preparations were made for a clandestine royal marriage in the Arendelle royal chapel. Known internationally for his failed attempt at a coup on this same kingdom five years prior, Prince Johannes has nonetheless made himself indispensable to the people of Arendelle, preserving the kingdom from the machinations of the King of the Southern Isles and the elusive sorceress known only as the Snow Queen, at great risk to his own life. At his own request, the Queen retracted her offered pardon following his heroic actions and sentenced His Highness to three years' service in Her Majesty's navy (the prince has since completed his sentence).

The swift marriage appears to have been a political maneuver; in a private interview with _Herald_ lead editor, Samuel Schibsted, Queen Elsa stated that, "His Royal Highness and I are of the agreement that Arendelle's neutrality is of the utmost importance in the conflict between the Southern Isles and the Northern League. Until such a time as Arendelle's military resources can be called upon without the expectation of magical intervention by the international community, the kingdom will not entangle itself in foreign wars or acts of aggression." The statement is sure to anger the people of the Southern Isles, coming shortly after the Queen's diplomatic visit to Teutonia; the outrage, however, is hoped to be quelled somewhat by the early release of Prince Gunnar, field marshal of the Southern Isles. **(article continues p. 2.; interview, p. 3).** _—Arendelle, March 29._

* * *

"How he dares defy this council–!"

"He should be court-martialed for desertion! He should be hung!"

"Desertion? Let's call the man what he is: a _traitor!"_

The king stood looking down at the paper, thrown like a gauntlet down upon the war table, hands clasped behind his back and brows furrowed. The rage clamored on around him, but he did not seem to hear it.

"Hanging's too good for him. I say we do him the favor he intended to do his darling wife."

"Let's not be hasty," Agnar said dryly, still looking down into the photograph. His brother and the queen looked solemnly out from the page in black-and-white, unsmiling and arm-in-arm. "Besides, Hans has a talent for wriggling out of nooses."

"The king is correct." The objections fell silent as Admiral Lund spoke up. "The prince may well come to our aid in the end; after all, His Highness Prince Gunnar should be arriving any day now from Arendelle. This could be a tactical move on his part—a way to sway Arendelle to our cause. This 'neutrality' may only be temporary."

There were gleams of greed in the eyes around the war table now. "Arendelle's navy would certainly be a beneficial supplement to our own," said one of the generals, rubbing his chin.

"Will she hand over the reins to him? Arendelle does allow a queen to rule alone."

"He'll have to seduce her into it. Still, if she's anything like her sister–"

"Well, give something to get something."

There were ugly laughs around the table. Agnar raised his head.

"We should proceed as if Arendelle's decision of neutrality were final," he advised curtly. "If Hans can press our case, then all the better, but we shouldn't count on it. If he's really turned traitor, then I will...deal...with him later." Nods around the table. "Let us turn to the matter of procuring arms. In light of the ironclads, we will need to re-outfit the _Four Horsemen._"

"Sire. Dun Broch is refusing to trade with us in matters of arms."

"I see. And Francia?"

"Francian guns? They're far too expensive, not worth the cost," snorted one of his generals. "Besides, they haven't fought a war since reinstituting the Bête dynasty."

"Sire," said a major, bowing. The king inclined his head. "While Francia's prices may not be ideal, I know of a Francian merchant with ties to manufacturers in the Unified Colonies."

"Those would be black market, I presume, Major Stenberg?"

The major shrugged. "The Unified Colonies' military has made serious advancements due to their war; their weaponry is state-of-the-art. And the League _are_ the invaders. We have a right to defend ourselves."

"I do not believe–"

"Francia will not object," said another major, rubbing his chin, and the king fell silent. "And Dun Broch and Ruthinia are staying out of matters. Could we get enough?"

"For the ships? Certainly. As for the common rifle, I think we could get away with an order of—seven thousand units?"

"That would fill the shortage nicely."

"…Very well," said the king. "Have the matter arranged."

"Sire."

The council continued their preparations for another two hours and then adjourned. When they had all left, Agnar departed for the chapel.

It was raining in the courtyard, slicking the grass and churning the earth to mud. The king was greeted with a warm breath of air when he entered the chapel, for the candles were still lit. He sat down heavily on the pew and leaned his elbows against the wooden rail.

The frescoes arrayed above him seemed to move when he wasn't looking, as the candlelight flickered over them erratically. The rain trickled down the chapel windows, pitch-black in the night. At the front of the chapel, around the altar, the frescos took on their traditional themes of sacrifice: execution, elevation, entombment. The king took out his beads but couldn't summon the energy to pray them.

_What do I do?_

The war was not winnable. The Isles were doomed. He knew that; why his military couldn't see it…he felt sick with anger and shame at his own feebleness before the war council. The military and aristocracy were rabidly set on going to war and damn the consequences, and he had parrotted their lies because he—the king!—had to fear the consequences of being the only sane man in the room. He was their ruler in nothing now but name, yet he knew as a man what it was not safe for the king to know: that the League was going to crush their troops and soak the farmlands of Schwarzenbek in the blood of Southern men.

_Then surrender now and end the war. You'll be throwing young men into the fire for nothing._

No—not nothing, for their sacrifice would preserve their king, paralyzed as that title had so abruptly become. The military and aristocracy would not stand to be embarrassed by an easy surrender; they would not tolerate such weak-willed sentimentalism from the king. After all, it was not their sons who would be dying in ditches.

_And they still believe brother will honor his loyalties in the end._

That was what they had all misread, Agnar thought bitterly. Hans was not a loyal man; he cared about honor, not loyalty. He would not fight a doomed war for the sake of a scrap of cloth other men called a flag unless something more important than the flag was at stake.

_Perhaps you can ask him and his lovely queen to protect you…_

But no. No, that would not do. Arendelle's navy could not stand up to the Isles', and their land army couldn't reach it. As for magic—it could wage wars, but not permanently deter assassins. Hans could not merely act as his bodyguard; to be of any use he'd have to ask his brother to threaten the military and noble houses into submission, and what kind of rule was that? Their father had ruled that way; the aristocracy had lived in fear of the day his dark power, possessed only for twelve short years, would cease to be a secret and become known to all the Isles—and they had fled that whip to accept the king's carrot of continuing to rob the peasant class blind.

Worse, to ask Arendellian monarchs to do the same would be to utterly upset the idea of the Isles' own sovereignty. It would imply to all and sundry that Arendelle could and _would_ use magic to bully other nations into acquiescing to their personal demands. That way lay the breakdown of international relations as they knew it; it would frighten the world powers and make Arendelle the target for a unified multinational assault—a position into which his brother and that clever queen would never put themselves. Yet what then was there left, he wondered? To wage a hopeless war, or to wait for the inevitable coup and run to Arendelle to beg amnesty off his brother?

The painted sacrificial motifs seemed to loom over him in the gloomy candle-flame; the wet dreary onslaught of rain grew stronger beyond the windows. King Agnar peered up at their medieval artistic simplicity, and felt cold and dwarfed by their fire-bright scenes of slaughter.

* * *

The clipper which carried the prince and princess over the dark north sea to Corona was the same one carrying the copy of the _Herald_ which bore the news. When it arrived, however, Anna and Kristoff found that Corona had already been informed of the marriage and the declaration of neutrality. "Cölln-Bärlin got a telegram from the _Zeiten's _reporter to Arendelle a few days ago," Rapunzel explained to them as they sat down to dinner, showing them the copy of the Teutonian newspaper, dated one day previous. Unlike the _Herald, _it had no wedding picture but rather individual photographs of Elsa from their visit to Teutonia and one of Hans from a few years previous. "And the Kaiser of course heard about it and sent a telegram to Bremmerburg, and a messenger carried it the rest of the way to us."

"And you're not angry?" said Anna anxiously.

"How could we be? After what the Chancellor told you," said King Frederick. "At least you didn't ally with the Isles."

"We'll be leaving tomorrow," Eugene said gravely. "We've been called up to Cölln-Barlin, now that war's been officially declared…"

"Weselton said you'd probably be heading one of the cavalry regiments," Anna said nervously. Eugene nodded. "And you're in charge of the Coronian navy, right, King Frederick?"

"That's right. I'll be staying here until we receive word from Cölln-Bärlin to set sail."

"But Eugene said 'we,'" Kristoff pointed out. "Who else is going to Cölln-Bärlin?"

"He meant me." They turned to Rapunzel, who, to Anna's surprise, looked calm at the statement, even determined. "I'm being sent to Schwarzenbek with the ambulance corps."

_"What?" _Anna looked between her and Eugene, stunned. "But you're the crown princess–"

"A crown princess with two heirs," Queen Ariana pointed out quietly. "The line is secured."

"But you've got kids…"

"Plenty of our soldiers are mothers, Anna," Rapunzel countered simply. "Ordinarily during a levy only one of a family would be conscripted—and since we're royalty it's technically voluntary—but with my gift, well, the League couldn't let me go to waste." She smiled reassuringly at Anna's concerned expression. "It's not so dangerous as it sounds. The hospital will be miles behind the front, in League territory. Everyone's got to do their part."

Rapunzel's good cheer was infectious, and the mood seemed less subdued after that. The rest of the meal was spent reminiscing on good times and begging for one of Queen Arianna's countless stories about her and Idunn's hijinks growing up. After dinner, Kristoff and Eugene went off to the library to talk, while Rapunzel said she had to finish packing. Anna offered to go with her.

By the time they reached Rapunzel's bedroom the sun had set outside the balcony window and shadows had fallen over the room; as Rapunzel went to light the lamps, Anna saw something glowing gold in the corner and went to examine it, curious. What at first she thought was a suitcase she quickly realized was a physician's pharmaceutical case: the vials of mercury and opium tinctures had been replaced by tiny glowing bottles of a glittering golden substance, complete with glass pipettes. "What is this?" she called over her shoulder, awed.

"Tears. They're very potent; one drop is enough to cure almost anything."

"Really?" Anna peered at them, her face washed with the yellow-gold light. Rapunzel had found the matches and began lighting the lamps. "So…could you cure like, a whole army…?" It made her feel sneaky, but she felt obliged to find out—just in case.

But Rapunzel shook her head. "I can only cry so much. And it's very time-sensitive; if someone's been dead for more than a minute or two it won't work…"

"Even so…" _An army with generals who can't die. That's…yeah, I think "terrifying" is the right word for that…_

And for just a moment, just the teeniest little moment, she felt the urge to reach out and grab one.

With a little shock of guilt, Anna stood up and walked over. Rapunzel was folding dresses neatly into a large suitcase; with one glance the Arendellian princess saw that all but one were long, Teutonian-blue dresses cut for practicality. On top of them were folded nurse's aprons and a pristine little stack of armbands stitched with the scarlet cross, folded up neatly like kerchiefs. Unsure what to say, Anna silently took a dress and folded it. It was only when she heard the sniffle that she looked up, and saw Rapunzel quickly brushing away a tear, which glowed, just for the faintest second, a glimmering gold.

"Oh, Rapunzel…"

"I'm okay." The Coronian princess gave another brave smile that was, almost, convincing. "Just worried for Eugene and Papa."

"I bet…"

"He'll be a target on the field for sure. I gave him a little bottle for himself, but he's too selfless; he'll use it to take care of other people first."

"Well…that's what you want in a king, right?"

Rapunzel mopped her eyes again and took a steadying breath. "Yes. But it's not always what you want in a husband." And Anna had to admit she agreed with that. "But anyway!" Rapunzel grabbed another dress and folded it. "Crying about it won't fix anything, right?—I mean, _my_ crying will—but you know, broadly speaking."

"I guess not."

"We've all got to do our part." She nodded as she repeated the phrase she'd used at dinner. "That's what it means to be part of the League. And now that we're in it, I guess we've got to pay our dues, right?"

"Right…" _She makes it sound like they had a choice. _Anna looked to the glowing bottles in the medical case across the room. _But I guess you've got to work with the world you have._

In the library, the princes were having a similar conversation. The ex-thief's face looked drawn, as if he'd been sleeping poorly for several days. "How are the kids taking it?" Kristoff asked, handing him a brandy and sitting down.

"I mean, the baby doesn't know what's going on, obviously. We've tried to explain things to Cressida, but she's still too young to really understand." Kristoff nodded. "It's rough, obviously, with both of us leaving, since that means there's a chance of both of us not coming back. I want my kids to know their parents. I mean, my ma died when I was really young, and my dad—hell, I never met the guy. Dun Brochish sailor type, left me a name and not much else." He shrugged with a half-grin that was sadder than any smile had a right to be. "Kids need their parents, y'know? –Hell, of course you do."

"It's not easy out there on your own," Kristoff agreed.

"Blondie's taken precautions, sure. But it's not just me I'm worried about." The Arendellian prince tilted his head. "I keep having this feeling," confessed Eugene grimly, "that I'm going to survive and think everything's going to be fine, and then the war will be over and someone will tell me she's been kidnapped or killed."

"But if she's behind the front lines–"

"Yeah, 'cept everyone knows what she can do, and what that means for the League's top generals. If I were a heartless bastard, I'd think to myself, 'Now what's the one thing I can do to best cripple the League? And how long would it take to send a couple guys behind enemy lines?'"

"I'm not sure I'd call the King a heartless bastard."

"Yeah, and he's not stupid either, so why's he going to war against the League?" Kristoff didn't answer. "I'll tell you why: because he's not really in charge anymore. And I don't know as I trust the Southern generals not to take a princess hostage out of the goodness of their hearts."

Kristoff didn't have a reply to that. He thought Eugene was being a bit paranoid—but then again, he couldn't really blame him.

The door opened as the girls came in, and the conversation fell off. "You packed?" Eugene asked, and his wife nodded.

"I'll be ready to leave tomorrow morning." She accepted the proffered glass of brandy and sat down next to Anna. The mood had turned dour again, and nobody could find the motivation to restart the conversation.

After some time, however, Rapunzel spoke up again: "How was the wedding?"

Anna stirred. "Really wonderful, actually. I don't think either of them wanted all that fanfare anyway."

"A quiet elopement by candlelight," the Coronian princess mused. "It must have been so romantic."

"Is she going to make him king?" Eugene asked.

"Eventually," Kristoff replied. "But neither of them really want to do that right away; they think it would look suspicious."

"I guess I can't argue with that."

"I think the _Herald_ was delivered on your ship," Rapunzel said, standing and going to a distant part of the room. When she returned, she had the newspaper in hand. "It's a lovely picture. Is that a crocus on the dress?"

"Yup. It's all snow; Elsa made it herself. See here, you can see it reflecting the flash from the camera…"

"Why is the crocus so important to Arendelle? It's on all your banners."

"It's symbolic," Anna replied with a proud smile. "Crocuses are some of the first flowers to bloom at the end of winter; Arendelle was the first nordic chiefdom to leave the raiding era behind and start unifying the peninsula."

The irony was lost on none of them as they sat around the fire—the born monarchs on one side, the commoners on the other. "...I guess the world has always been this way," Anna said softly at last, her smile having faded.

"Of course it has." Kristoff stood and went to pour himself another brandy. "The old stories just papered over it. Human beings don't change. We might learn better—but we _definitely_ don't change."

* * *

Anna and Kristoff saw them off on the carriage to Bremmerburg the next morning. "Say goodbye to Elsa and Hans for us?" Rapunzel asked, as Anna kissed her cheeks.

"I will."

"Anna– while we're gone–" Her cousin met her eyes, and Anna saw the nervous pinch in the lines around her mouth and eyes that her encouraging smile could not quite hide. "–Please. Look after my children."

The redhead hugged her close. "Of course we will."

They waved goodbye as the pair climbed into the carriage. The last image they had of them were of the prince in his burgundy and black officer's uniform, and the princess in her navy nursing dress and scarlet-cross armband. Then the door was shut, and the carriage was rattling away, leaving the Arendellian monarchs to watch behind it.

* * *

Cölln-Bärlin in the rainy evening was nearly as busy as it would have been on a sunny afternoon. The prince and princess of Corona stood side-by-side on the street outside the train station and peered about them in dazed shock. Crowds rushed like a tide in front of them (their backs were to the station wall) in a sea of black umbrellas, while beyond them hansom cabs rolled past each other in the street. They were used to crowds, of course—the subjects of Corona loved their princess and her slightly-wayward husband, and never hesitated to greet them in the town—but this was different, somehow. The citizens of Cölln-Bärlin—bustle and apron, cap and overcoat—walked swiftly and with their heads down against the driving rain, barely paying them a moment's glance.

Through the rain a nearby clock-tower tolled out a solemn eight-o-clock; though they had been scheduled to arrive that morning, they had been stalled on the rails by another train bringing troops north from Weseldorf. One of their guards stepped forward; his ceremonial _bratpfanne_ had been changed out for a rifle. "That's your carriage there, your highness. It should bring you straight to the Lady Schönhausen's townhouse."

"Lady Schönhausen?"

"The Chancellor's cousin, your highness. She has a small townhouse here in the city that she's offered for your stay, as she's not in Cölln-Bärlin at present."

Rapunzel turned to her husband, grasping his hands in hers. "I'll wait up for you."

"Get your sleep, you're leaving early and I don't know when I'll be back–"

But she kissed his cheek. "I'll see you tonight."

And then she was gone, weaving through the crowd against the tide towards the cab with her two guards. Those who remained on either side of the prince waited in silence as he watched the cab drive away.

At last, the guard who had spoken nodded. "Aha. There we are."

Another cab was pulling up through the rain, with little Coronian flags stuck at the four corners of the roof. Eugene made his way towards it and was about to step in when he heard the shrill sound of the whistle which haunts a thief's nightmares. He turned.

"I wasn't doing anything!"

"Shut up!" He winced in sympathy as two of the—what were they? Guards?—pushed the pickpocket up against the wall, while a third handed back the shocked woman (upper-class, by the look of her dress) her coin-purse. "Stealing from a nice woman in times like these–"

"And in front of the Defense Squad, too, what are you, stupid?" The thief spat in his face, and the guard swore loudly. "Pig!"

Eugene heard the crack of the backhand from across the street and, feeling the prickle of discomfort on his neck, turned his eyes away. "What are they?" he asked the knowledgeable guard, who had visited the city before.

"The Royal Defense Squad, sire."

"So they're guards?"

"Not exactly, sir—more like guards for the city, if that makes sense. They keep the peace, stop crimes."

"Sounds like a guard to me…" He got into the cab, and his guards followed.

They were brought to a government building, where he was escorted inside by a series of revolving Teutonian guards, with every step growing more disoriented. Not understanding protocol or etiquette was a familiar sensation for him, but this felt…different. _I think even the King would be out of his depth here._

After what felt like an eternity and yet no time at all of walking through hallways, he was at last escorted into the inner sanctum and unceremoniously shoved (well, not really, but it felt that way) into a dim room lit only in the center. A group of faces stared back at him, and he raised a hand, smiling nervously. "Um, hey."

"Prince Eugene." The voice that spoke was one that Eugene had heard before—not from that man, not in that place, but on the street-corners and back alleys of the Coronian city and towns. It was the voice of a man who was perfectly at ease welcoming another thief onto his turf, because he knew you weren't stupid enough to try to make it your own. "Welcome; we were wondering when you would arrive."

"Sorry I'm late; the trains got delayed…"

"Not a worry. Please, come in."

He walked forward, scanning the faces. Some faces he recognized—the young Prince of Bremmerburg, the Duke of Weseldorf, and of course Chancellor von Eisen, who had spoken—and other faces he didn't. Standing beside the Chancellor was a man who looked like the marble statues you see of old Roman senators, studying the war map laid out on the table with his hands clasped behind his back. Eugene had never seen a military man without a mustache before, but this man was the kind of man who didn't need a mustache to tell you he was in charge of a lot of guys. And boats. Probably big boats, with guns.

_I am so out of my league. Ha. That was punny. I'm a punny guy._

"How is the king of Corona?" the Chancellor asked as he reached the table.

"Uh– fine. Great. Yeah, just…waiting for your orders. Sir."

"They would be General von Helm's orders, as it happens." There were soft snorts of laughter around the room, and Eugene's face burned red.

"Right, right. I knew that." He nodded to the de-mustachioed man, wondering if he should bow, and then decided he shouldn't. "Sir."

"We will leave the naval discussion aside for now," said von Helm quietly, still studying the map. _No mustache, no shouting. _The man was all general, and no pomp. He didn't need symbolism to command respect, and the prince, who had learned from experience just how powerful symbols like crowns and castles could be, was more than a little intimidated by a man who didn't require them. "As for the land front…we will capture the city of Schwarzenbek proper, just across the border." He moved the blocks representing the League's armies across the border into the northern duchy. "Following that we will move east. It will be crucial to take the town of Flusstadt, which will give us access to the northbound river."

"Are the citizens on our side?" asked the Duke of Weseldorf.

"They are," said von Eisen. "We have stationed spies in the town; the Southern army has moved four hundred men into the area to defend it, but our intelligence tells us that the people are already prepared to mount an internal resistance."

"Wonderful."

"The river will give us a direct inland route to the North Sea. That will allow us to consolidate the southwest portion of the duchy."

"Shouldn't we be focusing first on the Baltic Inlet, sir?" asked one of the lower generals.

"No, not immediately. We have no navy in the Baltic that can rival that of the Isles. We will attend to the Inlet later."

"But certainly it will be essential to taking the north and eastern quadrants of the duchy…"

"General von Helm's judgment is sound," von Eisen reassured. "Let the Southerners wear out their navy against Corona in the North Sea; when they are weak, we will send fresh ships from Meckleburg to take the Inlet."

"I see…"

"Once we have secured the river, we will move into the plains. Here the cavalry will become most essential…"

The meeting continued long into the night. After the first half-hour, Eugene asked a guard at the door to get him some paper and started taking notes. By the end of it, he had fifteen pages, an aching neck and a conflicted sensation of confidence mixed with dread. The League was going to win—it wouldn't even be a long war—but the fighting on the plains, without the support of large groups of rebellious townspeople, was going to be a brutal slog. _There's a fifty-fifty chance I won't live to see the end of it, _he thought to himself, with an almost idle calm, and then: _why hello there, emotional denial; nice to see an old friend._

The cab took him to a townhouse not far from the government buildings. He thanked and tipped the driver, got out with his guards, and stared up at the townhouse. Lightning and thunder roiled overhead.

The inside of the house was stuffy and cluttered, and he missed the open airiness of Coronian houses. A maid in a pressed uniform told him that the princess was in the main bedroom, and he made his way up the stairs while the guards settled into the guest rooms on the main floor.

On the landing, he knocked on the door and then peeked his head in. The room was dark. "Blondie? You still up?"

_"Blume leuchtend schön, kannst so mächtig sein…"_

He stepped inside and shut the door. The gentle glow began to shine, onto the ceiling, the pointless knick-knacks.

"_Dreh die Zeit zurück, gib mir was einst war mein…"_

Despite the shudder in her voice, the incantation rang out clear and sweet, like an echo from the bottom of a well. Rapunzel was kneeling beside the bed, head tilted upwards and eyes closed. Gently glowing tears were trickling down her cheeks, and she caught them into a phial—each one a life preserved, a family unshattered, a marriage unbroken.

"_Blume leuchtend schön, lass mich nicht allein…"_

She had been so brave, he appreciated—putting a cheery face on for everyone, not wanting to be worried about. It was just how she did things. But it would be harder on her, maybe even than on anyone else. Rapunzel was by nature a glass-half-full kind of gal, but it was her tenderness and sympathy, not her resilience, that gave her magic its power. She was not _allowed_ to grow tougher in the face of war and suffering; her bleeding heart, her emotional anguish, was what the war effort needed. _Their sacrificial lamb, _he thought with disgust, and thought of the witch who had locked up a little girl in a cage.

"_Halt das Schicksal auf, gib mir was einst war mein…was einst war mein."_

The gleam faded, and she opened her eyes, blinking the last few teardrops into the phial. Then she sniffled and turned to him with a watery smile.

He rushed forward and gathered her up into his arms.

* * *

_**The Dun Broch Times**_

Dùn Èideann, April 4

**CONTENTS**

Colonial and Foreign Intelligence… p. 5 & 6.

–_The Southern Isles: Schwarzenbek-Ratzeburg conflict…_ p. 5

–_The Unified Colonies: Southern Reconstruction…_ p. 8

–_Subcontinental Affairs… _p. 9

Disasters at Sea… p. 7

Court Circular and News… p. 10

The Money Market… p. 4.

COLONIAL AND FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE

**The Southern Isles: **Following the eruption of hostilities on the Schwarzenbek-Ratzeburg border on the evening of Mar. 26 and the issuing of a declaration of war by King Friederich-Wilhelm V of Teutonia, a week of peace led to hopeful rumors that war might not erupt between the two powers. Those hopes were dashed, however, on the morning of April 2 as League forces marched on the city of Schwarzenbek (pop. 2,804). Anonymous sources within the city report that numerous citizens are engaging in efforts to assist the League. "The crown has never treated us like real Southern citizens, and I'll be d—ed if I let them pretend we are now," said one young rebel fighter, who said she preferred to remain anonymous. _—Schwarzenbek, April 2._

* * *

"C'mere, you little rascal!"

There was a shriek of joy and the patter of running bare feet on the marble as a curly-haired child dashed through the halls, avoiding the mountain man behind her with the same tactical genius that had made her father such an excellent thief. A break in the rain had led to a walk in the garden, which had led to a shoeless run through the garden, which had led to mud being tracked inside. So far the toddler's evasive maneuvers had proved effective for two and a half halls; the servants were going to be in a state.

In the end, however, height and age won, and Kristoff scooped the little princess up into his arms with a laugh. "Gotcha." Cressida laughed and clapped her hands. "Yeah, yeah, you pulled one over on me, kid. Nicely done. Your pa would be proud."

"Unca-Krissoff! Put me _down!"_

"Not with those muddy feet I won't."

"Did you catch her?" a panting voice called as Anna rounded the hallway, a baby in her arms. "Oh, good."

"Uh, Anna?"

"Yeah?"

Her husband nodded to her bare, and muddy, feet poking out from beneath her peasant skirt. The princess gasped.

"Oh, no!"

"Auntie Anna muddy!"

"Yes, Auntie Anna is muddy," Kristoff teased, hoisting the kid up into a more comfortable position and walking over to the distressed princess.

"I didn't mean to forget my shoes," she despaired.

"At least you didn't forget the baby."

Anna couldn't help but giggle at that. "Of all the days for the nursemaid to go home sick." She bounced the baby in her arms; the little prince was still snoozing away despite the mad dash through the halls. "Sorry I fell behind; I was trying not to wake him."

"Auntie Anna muddy!" Cressida repeated gleefully, clapping her hands.

"Yes, and now we're all going to go back to the garden and wash our feet," Kristoff agreed. "How's that sound, kiddo?"

"Yay!"

They started back through the mud-printed halls towards the garden; eventually, since the floor was already done for, Kristoff put Cressida down and let her swing between his and Anna's hands as they walked. "Want me to carry the baby for a while?"

"Maybe after he wakes up. He'll probably want to nurse…" She'd already nursed the prince several times before, and much to her delight, it wasn't as complicated as she'd feared. "Speaking of, I'm hungry; when's supper?"

"Dunno; half an hour, maybe?" He eyed her. "You're not feeling nauseous, are you? You usually feel nauseous right before you get hungry."

"Nope. Haven't gotten sick in days now. I think it's over."

"Auntie Anna sick?" Cressida piped up.

"Morning sickness," Anna educated her. "It comes from being pregnant."

Cressida looked horrified. "I don' wanna ever be preg'ant!"

Anna laughed and swung her again, to the girl's delight. "Trust me, Cress, there are worse things to get sick over." She grinned at her. "But you don't need to worry about that for a long time."

They were nearly back at the garden door when a maid hurried up to them through the hall. "I'm so sorry about the mess," Anna apologized. "One second she was here, and the next she was gone!"

"Please, it's no trouble, your Highnesses. But I'm afraid you're needed in the royal study. I've been sent to look after the children for now."

Concerned, the husband and wife looked at each other. "Is something wrong?" Anna asked.

"I'm not certain, your highness. But their Majesties said it was urgent."

"Of course…"

They passed the children off to the maid. As they walked, Anna said, "If Queen Arianna and King Frederick are both there…"

"I know." Kristoff's face was grave. "It must be time."

Their predictions were correct; when they reached the study, they found the king holding a telegram from Cölln-Bärlin. The City of Schwarzenbek had been liberated; the townspeople there had, with the League's help, mounted a successful rebellion against the Isles, and the city had now been established as a stronghold, complete with a hospital and high command for the land front.

"The time has come for the League's naval forces to enter the war," said King Frederick. "Corona will be both leading the charge as well as giving the most ships to the cause."

"When are you leaving?" Anna asked.

"Immediately. If the winds are right, we hope to set sail the day after tomorrow."

"So soon…is the navy ready?"

"It is. We've had our sailors assembling here in the city over the last few weeks in preparation. Our officers informed us yesterday evening that nearly everyone has reported for duty."

"I see," Anna looked a bit dazed. "I'll write back to Elsa immediately."

"All that's left to do," said the queen softly, taking her husband's hand, "Is tell Cressida."

The child was summoned; Anna and Kristoff watched on as the girl's grandfather sat her down and explained to her that he was leaving for a long time and that he was very sorry, but he wouldn't be there to celebrate her birthday. The little girl didn't seem to understand much of it; she kicked her feet in the too-high chair and accepted his apologies for missing her birthday party as ambivalently as if he'd told her they'd be having applesauce for supper. It was heartbreaking in its duality: the gravity of a, perhaps final, farewell on the king's behalf, utter ignorance and apathy on the child's. Something had to be done, Kristoff thought, and remembered his talk with the prince in the library. Something had to be fixed.

It wasn't until later that evening that he was able to put his ruminations into words. "Anna, I've been thinking," he said quietly, as he carried the sleepy little princess to her bedroom. The toddler's arms were thrown limply around his neck. "We should stay here in Corona—at least until the end of the month."

"I've been thinking that too. We're their godparents, after all. And besides, the baby's still nursing…"

"Do you think Elsa will mind?"

She shrugged. "I'm the ambassador. You're my husband. Staying in Corona is probably what's expected of us anyway—unless you've gotten any letters from the Northern Tribes?"

"Not recently. And all my mail is being forwarded here anyway; it's not like we're that far away from Arendelle."

"Then I think we should stay."

They opened the door to Cressida's bedroom. Cressida yawned sleepily as the Arendellian prince lay her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her. "G'night, kiddo," he whispered, kissing her hair. "Sweet dreams."

"Sing the song," Cressida mumbled.

"What?"

"Mama a'ways sings me the song." She started to hum a tune that Kristoff didn't at first recognize, but when he saw his wife cover her mouth suddenly with her hand, he understood.

"Well, I dunno that one…" He sat down on the bed next to her. "But I've got one that I sing to my reindeer. Would that work?"

"Uh-huh," Cressida mumbled sleepily. He bit his lip and looked to his wife, who nodded.

"_Reinsdyr er bedre enn folk de,"_ he began softly. _"Svein, du er enig du." _He shifted his tone. _"Jo folk de vil slå deg, og klø deg og flå deg. Hele hurven er slem, untatt du."_

The little princess giggled at the funny voice, even though she didn't yet know the language, and then her smile faded again. _"Men lukta er værre av Reinsdyr,"_ he continued._ "Svein, synes du det er sant?—Du har nok rett ja, sånn Untatt deg da.—Den satt ja, vi sier du vant."_

"_God natt,"_ Anna whispered.

"_Tar du litt høy i pant…?"_

He faded off. The princess was asleep, snoozing soundly; her snores fluttered a little curl of brown hair that fell over her forehead. He stood up.

"Sleep tight, kid."

He hadn't meant it to, but his voice had turned hoarse the moment he stopped singing. Anna took his hand, and he swallowed hard.

"We're staying," he whispered fiercely, thinking of a warm mossy hollow in the heart of a great snowy wood, and Anna nodded.

* * *

"Princess!"

She turned at the call; a junior nurse was waving her down. _"__Können Sie mir helfen?"_

Rapunzel nodded and sloshed through the mud towards the cart; the roads in Schwarzenbek were better than elsewhere in the duchy, but they were still full of potholes from the harsh winter, which meant that the nurses' feet got soaked no matter how hard they tried to step around the puddles. The rain had let up some from last night, thankfully; the wounded arriving in from the battle in nearby Flusstadt had enough discomfort without being soaked through on the journey.

The junior nurse, a sixteen-year-old girl named Cora, held onto one end of the stretcher while the princess held the other, and the man was lifted, with a cry of pain, out of the cart and onto the stained canvas. He was not the first man to have bled over the stretcher and he would not be the last. "He's in a bad way," said the corpsman in the cart. "Hit by a cannon; he'll need an amputation."

"Is that the last of them?"

"For now."

It was always "for now." The princess and the junior nurse carried the wounded man into the inn, which was serving as the military hospital. They laid him down in the dining room, which had been set aside for triage, as the head nurse came through with her ledger, analyzing the cases with a well-practiced glance. She took one look at the man and said, "He can wait. Give him some tincture for the pain."

"Can the leg be saved?"

"It's doubtful. And we have boys with stomach wounds who need to go first." She moved on, and the princess looked down at the man. He was peering up at the ceiling with pain-dazed eyes. She wondered if he'd understood what the head nurse was saying. Then she realized she didn't feel sorrow for the man. Just exhaustion—deep, bone-aching exhaustion.

Cora went to get the opium tincture, and the princess was whisked away to the head nurse's side at the end of the dining room. The man in front of her was gasping for air; a large red stain on his right upper chest prophesied a pierced lung. "How much of the serum do you have left?" she asked brusquely, writing down something in her ledger.

"Two phials."

"That's what, twenty drops?" The princess nodded. "That's not enough…are you sure you can't cry any more?"

"I can't." Her eyes were red-rimmed and bruised. "I'm all cried out."

The head nurse looked up, and her face softened a fraction. She patted the girl's shoulder. "There's a lull in the casualties. Take a break, get yourself a glass of water."

The princess nodded and left to do as ordered. Outside the hospital, the wind was picking up, thick with the taste of rain. She fastened her blue cloak tighter over her shoulders and hurried to the adjacent house which was serving as the nurse's quarters.

Inside it was quiet, and she sat down in the kitchen and stared at the wall. The relief and fatigue of finally being off her feet hit her at the same time, every limb suddenly three times heavier. She felt like there was a buzzing in her head—a dead nothing-sound in the absence of thought, like the rattle from a beehive.

There was a half-full pitcher on the table, porcelain with a cheery print on the handle. She downed two cups of tepid water and rubbed her eyes. Then she dropped her head into her hands. Everything hurt. Her eyes hurt. Her shoulders hurt. Her head was pounding with thirst. And the men just kept _coming. _She had brought the twenty phials and thought, stupidly, that it would last her for a good portion of the war. What a fool she'd been. They'd barely held out through the battle for Schwarzenbek. Worse, the magic had to be reserved for the captains and commanders; she had already watched too many young men die horrible deaths while she'd stood next to them, with lifesaving medicine in her pocket that she wasn't allowed to use.

She had broken down in furious tears at the head nurse for that halfway through the battle. It had seemed so _unfair. _And then the matron had explained to her the ugly reality: one dead general was worth a hundred dead soldiers, not merely in military worth but in actual, tactile _fact._ Older, more experienced leaders knew how to run a battle to gain the most ground while losing the least resources, soldiers among them—and when an experienced leader died, a less-experienced man had to be moved into his place.

That had been a hard awakening. Well, the princess thought tiredly, rubbing her eyes; at least they'd gotten another phial of tears out of it.

Her legs twinged painfully as she stood up and rolled her shoulders. Though she felt like she'd only just sat down, the clock on the kitchen wall told her she'd been gone too long already. If she'd had any tears left to cry, she would have broken down again from fatigue. But she hadn't, and so she didn't.

The wind outside was blowing stronger and fiercer now; the next bout of rain was about to come in. She was about to head back into the hospital when a noise caught her ear and she turned.

From down the street the clatter of horse's hooves galloping over the cobblestones echoed against the walls, and the townspeople pulled themselves close against the buildings as a horse rounded the corner, gravel flying. Rapunzel stepped back as the horse came to a trembling halt in front of her and the rider disembarked, pulling off his helmet.

It was the young Prince of Bremmerburg. His uniform was stained with soot and blood; large patches of it had spread across his jacket—one on the upper-left breast, the other on the lower abdomen—around two neat and unmistakable bullet-holes. "Your Highness! You're hurt–!"

But he waved her off. "I'm fine, don't worry about me! Where's high command?"

"In the mayoral mansion–"

"Good. Here." He shoved a half-empty phial of golden tears into her hand. "Compliments of the Duke."

"What happened to yours?"

"Broke. Got hit by a stray bullet, almost killed me. Weseldorf and his men are still out there keeping steady fire but they need reinforcements; the Southerners sent more units up the river last night and they're targeting the artillery. Hellfire and damnation!"

He hurried away. Behind him, down the street, she heard and then saw the rattle of wagons—more wagons than she'd seen all the last long two weeks, more than during the worst of the battle for the city. From the hospital behind her the other nurses came out silently into the street, one by one. They peered past her down the street towards the oncoming train of carts, the young untested girls numb with disbelief, the older, battle-tried women wry with foresight. The princess looked back, through the doorway of the inn, to the bleeding and groaning men already lain out or slumped up on the floor. Despair, held at bay through all the hectic and seemingly endless hours of the previous night, suddenly threatened to engulf her: _I can't do this. I can't. It's too hard, I can't…_

They stood and watched in silence as the first cart pulled up in front of the hospital with a dry clatter. When it fell silent, they heard the groans from the bodies piled within. A young man with fair curly hair and a slung arm was staring sightlessly at the buildings around him, blood smearing his fingers. Someone lying inside the box of the cart was gasping for air with a sucking rattle.

_I can't do this._

But then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up into the face of the head nurse.

"For the Empire."

The words swam incomprehensibly through the bee-hive fatigue. She couldn't do this for Teutonia, or for the Kaiser, far away on a distant throne.

"…For the Empire."

_But I can do it for Corona._

The matron clapped her shoulder, and then they were swept forward with the rest of the nurses towards the cart.

* * *

The beginning of April wore away in a tedium of anxiety and boredom. The rain refused to let up, flooding the town streets, and the crocuses and some of the flowering trees were blooming along the fjord. Despite the beauty of the changing seasons, the idea of any sort of honeymoon for the newlyweds was out of the question; the war had driven most other thoughts from their minds, and it was likewise difficult to get into an amorous mood under the conditions. The most immediate benefit of married life, it turned out, was someone to share the burden with: they read updates on the war in the _Dun Broch Times _over breakfast every morning (even on a two-day shipping delay, it was quicker to get them that way than wait for word to reach the _Herald)_ and worried about it together.

Four days after the pair's departure, Elsa had received a letter from Anna and Kristoff saying they'd arrived in Corona and had been welcomed to stay until the end of the month. To her and Hans's concern, Anna had reported that not only had Eugene and King Frederick been sent to the front, but Rapunzel as well, due to her magic's obvious medical utility. With their children in Queen Ariana's care, both were technically expendable; Rapunzel of course would be safer miles behind the League front lines, but even so Elsa couldn't help but worry.

Still, life had to go on; the war was not Arendelle's war, and the queen and her husband had work to do. They met with the council to discuss the war's impact on trade. They received and compiled reports from the provinces on the spring planting and how the winter had differed from the weather patterns from previous years. Elsa drafted budget proposals for telegraph lines and railway lines, and decided on prioritizing the former.

A desk was set up near the library fireplace for Hans, who as prince-consort did not yet technically have much power and spent most of his time helping her with paperwork. To Elsa's surprise, he did not often go out to visit the town as he often did and would have been expected to do following his induction into the royal family. Instead, he spent most of his free time in the rainy garden, practicing his magic alone and politely refusing her offers to help.

It was in the afternoon during a torrential spring downpour at the end of April, three weeks into the war, that she finally went to the garden to talk to him during one of these sessions. He was soaked to the bone, red hair plastered to his forehead and clothes clinging to him, dripping rainwater, while the tree-branches and torn petals blew ominously in the fierce wind. She watched from the doorway for a while, arms crossed, as he tried and repeatedly failed to keep a ring of flames burning continuously around him, lines of fire occasionally darting out to consume a budding crocus or strand of ivy on command.

After his fifth or sixth failed attempt (she'd lost count) he let out a string of angry curses that made her straighten up from the doorframe and walk towards him.

"What you're trying to do is complex, and you're in the rain," she said frankly. She decided not to turn the rain falling on her into snow; it might look like showing off. "What do you expect from yourself, godhood?"

"Easy for you to say," he muttered, looking around at the scorch marks on the cobblestones quickly being washed away. "Ice stays where you put it."

"Why don't you come inside and try again later, when you're not drowning in a monsoon?"

"I'm good, thanks."

She tried another tactic: "If you want to practice, I can–"

"I don't need your help!"

She stopped short at the childish snarl and raised an eyebrow. Her husband grimaced and then sighed, short and irritable.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

"No, it's not," he sighed again, this time genuinely. Elsa wasn't sure if it was the rain rolling down his face and sopping his jacket, but he looked pretty pathetic and forgivable. "That's…why I'm out here, I know I…"

"Get snippy?"

"Lash out." He sounded guilty. "I lash out, when I'm stressed. I didn't think that was a great way to start off a marriage, so I've been avoiding you."

"It's not just you. I do the same thing."

He turned to face her fully with a wry smile. "Not exactly. I flare up, you…go cold."

"Pun intended?"

"Absolutely." She smirked. "And sarcastic. You get quite sarcastic." He glanced up at the castle walls. "You're right, this is miserable. I haven't figured out how to keep myself dry yet."

"Let's get you a towel."

They made their way inside, Hans still dripping water. He tried to dry his boots and succeeded in scorching the leather. "_Damn_ it."

"Take it from an expert," she advised, while he wrung out his jacket, "don't shut yourself off from other people. It makes things worse."

"I don't like who I am when I'm stressed. And I don't like you seeing that side of me."

"Hans, I've met that side of you enough times, I'm sure I can tolerate him every now and again." He didn't answer, looking guilty, and she added more gently: "Being stressed is natural, especially under these circumstances. You just need to develop some…better coping strategies."

"Mm."

They made their way back to the library, where Hans lit a fire in the grate and hung his jacket up on the back of a chair to dry. He tossed a little sphere of flame over to hover in front of it while Gerda went to fetch him a change of clothes. Then he lay down on the carpet in front of the fire and closed his eyes.

"You'll get the carpet wet," Elsa called as she sat back down at her desk, putting on her reading glasses to start her paperwork.

"It'll dry…"

She looked over the edge of her glasses at him. He was lying at a comfortable position—flat on his back but with his knees bent upwards, eyes closed—but she could see the lines of tension in his face. His brow was knitted, unconsciously, indicating the persistent strain inside his head.

For Hans's part, the fire was warm and comfortable (and quickly drying his left shirtsleeve), but the more restless part of him wanted to go back out to the garden. At least it would be something to do.

"What I don't understand," he complained, "is how you got so _good _at this so quickly." He could feel her surprise across the room. "It's been three years and I can't…"

"Hans, what on earth are you talking about?" He cracked an eye open to see her incredulous expression. "You have far more control than I ever did, at least until after my coronation."

"That's because you're neurotic and repressed."

"Such kind words from a loving husband."

"Your power just…bursts out of you, under pressure; mine…" He opened his eyes and held up his hands; little flames curled around the fingers. "It's like trying to hold onto water. It doesn't flood out like yours–"

"Except when you have nightmares and light castles on fire."

"–But I can't usually make it do what I want it to, either—not in anything more concrete than lighting the hearth." He put his hands back down; the heat from the fireplace brushed warm against the knuckles on his left hand. "And you created a whole architectural masterpiece on your first night of freedom." The envy in his voice was impossible to miss.

"Hans, I've told you before, love–"

"I know, I know. 'Love will thaw.' You and Anna keep saying that, but I still don't know how it works!"

"What about Ovn? You created her out of love, just like I did Olaf." The little creations had been so overjoyed at seeing both her and Hans back, and then the wedding (Olaf was already making up plans for a celebration party) that they'd hardly been able to contain themselves. They were love and loyalty incarnate.

But Hans snorted. "Love? Love of life, maybe; usually we just call that 'survival.'"

"Love for your mother," Elsa corrected gently. "You needed a protector and you thought of her, didn't you?"

Hans processed this, looking up at the ceiling without seeing it. "…I suppose I did."

He heard her move, and then saw her shadow fall over him as she knelt down next to him. "Love isn't an emotion," she said thoughtfully, beginning to thread her fingers through his red hair. Her cold hands were soothing, and he felt his eyes flutter closed again. "It's a decision. So is hatred, so is cowardice… I've seen you when you're determined; the magic comes naturally to you. You're a very…willful person."

"What a keen and cutting observation."

"But, emotions _are_ important." He didn't reply to that. "They make it easier to do things, to put our willpower into action. You say I'm repressed, but you cut yourself off from emotions when you find them unpleasant," his wife said frankly. "Feeling things frightens you, so you pretend to yourself that you don't feel anything, except for anger. Eventually, the lie becomes true."

He didn't respond for a beat or two. Then she heard him say weakly, "...I thought I was getting better at that."

"You are. But you're afraid on your brother's behalf, and that's…complicated, for you."

"I don't know why I keep reading the headlines," he confessed exhaustedly, rubbing his face. "I know the Isles are going to lose. I suppose I'm worried something worse will happen." She didn't answer, baiting him with the silence. He took it. "Do you know, he offered me the crown?"

"_What?"_

"And the thing is, I think he really meant it. He has no heirs. No wife. My brothers—well, go watch them work the river for a day if you want to see the sort of rulers they'd be." He opened his eyes, frustrated. "Meanwhile Agnar's position is growing more unstable by the day; his military has more or less taken over his rule already and is dragging his name through the mud in the process, because it would be too _embarrassing_ to just hand the League the duchies. And now we've sent Gunnar back; I'll be damned if they weren't practically dancing with joy."

"We didn't exactly have a choice; holding their field marshal captive would have been far from neutral."

"I know. But everything Agnar has done for the Isles could be lost. Everything _we've_ done for them could be ruined, out of _ego_ and _pride!"_ He saw the expression on her face and exhaled in irritation: "Yes, yes, I hear the irony! Stop giving me that look!"

"Hans." She took his hand, the cooling crystals dampering the flames and stilling his anger. "You're the prince-consort of Arendelle, not the king of the Southern Isles. You'll have enough on your hands trying to run one kingdom; don't take on the burden of two."

There was a long silence. Then he sighed. "You're right. I know you're right."

"What did you say, when he offered to make you heir?"

"I said you'd never stand for it."

_That's not a no. _But she supposed it was the best he could manage. Elsa stood, and couldn't help but smile at the way his fingers half-reluctantly traced their way down her palm. "Try to take your mind off it. Do you want your book? It's on the mantle."

"Yes, thank you…"

He passed it down and returned to her desk, while he opened the collection to a page at a random. It was a beautifully drawn illustration in color of poor Little Ashputtle being fitted with the golden slipper from the prince's hand. He flipped through until he came to another illustration, of Prince Philip of Teutonia placing the True Love's Kiss upon the lips of Briar Rose.

It had been here, he remembered; just in front of this fireplace, where he was laying, and Anna had fallen off the couch… _"You were so desperate for love, you were willing to marry me just like that!" _He'd spent enough time in that library to know that the castle had a copy of the _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ in Arendellian. She'd grown up on these stories, just like he had—and had drawn very different conclusions from them.

_Love will thaw, _he mused, flipping through the pages; everything always seemed out to work in the storybooks for people who had "true love." _Well, and they were rich, and well-connected, and high-born—or they married up, anyway…_ Then again, hadn't he seen "true love" thaw fjords, end curses, bring back the dead? _But there are always wicked princes, _he thought, turning the page. _Always power-grubbing little morons, or wicked sorceresses, or just blind human nature and bigotry and deep dark evils underfoot… _There were always people like him. Even if "true love" were the answer, what did it matter if nobody would listen? People had been committing "acts of true love" since the beginning of time, and it hadn't changed a damn thing. Maybe happy endings weren't really endings, just brief periods of respite before the next mad king or evil witch came along again and locked nice girls in libraries or murdered rightful heirs. _Maybe it's time to leave storybooks in the nursery where they belong. _He ran his finger along the rough edge of the storybook's heavy, creamy page with an uncomfortable feeling of shame. _Maybe it's time I took the advice I gave Anna and grew the hell up._

"By the way." He looked over. His wife was still working away at her desk. "I've been meaning to ask: is there a reason I caught Anna apologizing to Sitron before she left?"

That elicited a chuckle despite his dour mood. "Was she really?" Elsa hummed. "I reminded her of how we met, when we were talking before the wedding."

She giggled. "I see. Did you discuss anything else of interest?"

"Just her incredible generosity," he said wryly, returning to the book. "I may have made a joke about her holding me to our engagement until she was a ninety-year-old widow." Elsa snorted lightly and moved on to the next form, adjusting her glasses.

For about thirty seconds, there was silence.

Then Hans scrambled to his feet, his mouth hanging open and half-damp hair falling erratically in his face. "That's it."

"What?" Elsa looked up sharply. Hans was staring at the book of Germanic fairy tales like a pirate who'd discovered hidden treasure.

"We can stop the war."

"Beg pardon?"

"I know how we can stop the war!" He laughed, snapped the book shut and kissed it. _"Ha!_ Oh, Agnar had better worship the _ground_ I _walk _on for this– Come on, Elsa, we have to go."

He'd raced over, grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her desk chair before she even knew what was going on. "Wh–? Go _where?"_

"Where? To the Southern Isles, obviously! We can't send a letter, not at this rate! What's your fastest ship? You've got that nice clipper, I think, the Dun Brochish one–"

"Hans! Stop. Tell me what in the _world_ is possessing you to walk into a war zone, at least before you drag me with you!"

He shoved the book into her hands almost before she'd finished her sentence. "It's here, Elsa, it's all right here! The answer has been under my nose the whole time! _Little Ashputtle; Snow-White—_ ha! _Briar Rose!_ Rags to riches, fortuitous meetings, all of it!"

"Hans, what are you _talking_ about?! What does of any of that– how are you going to stop a _war?"_

"How else?" He spun full around on his heels and threw his hands to the sky in exultation, beaming at her in pride of his own genius. "With a true love's kiss!"

"_What?"_

"Or at least," he chuckled, turning and striding towards the library door, "something a hell of a lot like it."

* * *

_**Der Teutonisch Zeiten**_

Cölln-Barlin – Wednesday, 20 April

**CONTENTS**

League News… p. 1

–_BREAKING: Flusstadt Captured!…_ p. 1

–_Women at War: Corona's Newest Naval Captain… _p. 2

Teutonian News

– _Sweaters for Soldiers: Cölln-Bärlin War Wives Form Knitting Leagues… _p. 4

– _New Traditionalist Church Erected in Cölln-Bärlin… _p. 5

International News

–_House of Weiss Welcomes Francian Emperor for Ball…_ p. 7

–_Fendoland to Receive International Famine Aid…_ p. 10

~ VICTORY AT FLUSSTADT ~

_Total forces: 900 (League); 600 (Southern)*_

_Total dead: 232 (League); 300 (Southern)*_

_Total injured: 201 (League); 170 (Southern)*_

_*Southern totals are approximate_

The tide was turned in the Battle of Flusstadt yesterday with the arrival of League reinforcements from Ulfenburg to assist the Weseldorf and Bremmerburger troops. In response to the arrival of two hundred extra men to the Southern forces under the cover of night on April 17, three companies of League soldiers arrived at Flusstadt (pop. 450) in the afternoon of the 18th, handing the League a critical victory.

Among the dead is the Lord Abelard Isaac, Duke of Weseldorf. The Duke was slain when Southern cannon-fire struck his horse, under which he was crushed and thereafter perished. The Duke is survived by his son, Abelard II, who will be crowned Duke on the morrow. He was a widower and had no other children. _—Schwarzenbek, April 19._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

**The information on pre-Reformation Danish coronation rites comes from Reginald Maxwell Woolley's **_**Coronation Rites.**_

"**Dr. Amadeus Appia" is a reference to the real-life Dr. Louis Paul Amédée Appia, the first of two Swiss Red Cross delegates to Denmark during the Second Schleswig War.**

**Also, for anyone who's interested in what King Agnar looks like, you may reference the Wikipedia page for King Christian IX, King of Denmark during and following the Second Schleswig War.**

**For anyone who's interested in what real-life Elsa would look like, please enjoy: ****www. pinterest. com [slash] pin[slash] 25543922860781996 [slash] and www. dolldivine. com [slash] Modified-Dolls [slash] SJK-2901641**

**For Hans, Anna and Kristoff, Finnish artist Jirka Vinse Jonatan Väätäinen's renditions of these characters are without a doubt the best I've ever seen, especially for Hans. Feel free to visit his website at www. jirkavinse. com.**

**Thank you so much to all my reviewers and followers! On with the story!**

* * *

The deck rolled in a gentle slope and righted again beneath the king's boots, his hands clasped behind his back as he scanned the horizon, where blue met blue uninterrupted. They had lost sight of land several hours ago—which meant, naturally, that land had lost sight of them.

_"Frau Kapitänleutnant."_ He turned, and the woman at his side saluted.

"Sire."

"Would you accompany me to the wardroom? There are some details of the offensive we should discuss."

"Sire."

The first officer followed him below decks into the belly of the flagship. When they reached the wardroom, he ordered the guards to stand watch and closed the door. "Begging your pardon, sire," said the first officer, "but this is rather unorthodox. Should we call the rest of the officers?"

"In time, Captain-Lieutenant. First I want your opinion on the matter." As she watched in curiosity, he opened a small hatch which she knew from experience usually held extra candles and retrieved what appeared to be a file of papers and a map. He placed them on the table, unrolled the map and gestured for her to look.

She studied the map, and the markings tracking their intended course. "That," she remarked, "is quite a different story than what I've been told, your Majesty."

"Excellent. If you have not heard, then nobody else has." He pushed the file towards her. "One week ago, we received notice that there was a Southern spy among our ranks."

"A spy, sir?"

"Yes—a captain of one of our smaller vessels. We were, of course, prepared for this. The Southern Isles have a long history of espionage. As a matter of fact, they inspired the design of our own intelligence initiatives after the princess's abduction."

"And what did you do with this traitor, sir?"

"Nothing," said King Frederick simply. "He is currently captaining the _Benedikta."_ The first officer nodded in approval. "When his betrayal was discovered, I realized an opportunity, and sent my proposal ahead to Cölln-Bärlin. General von Helm returned his approval several days ago."

"So," she said, studying the map again, "we are not going to Schwarzenbek."

"No—but the Southern Isles very much believe we are. The night before we set sail, we received word that they had begun preparing three-quarters of their navy to embark for the southern duchies." He tracked the dotted line with his finger. "With most of their forces diverted, we will wait for their fleet to pass, and then cross into the Øresund and attempt to take Hagenkopen."

"Crossing the Helsingør Strait will be the most difficult part," the first officer assessed, tapping her chin as she peered down at the narrowest and northernmost point of the Sound.

"We will cross as close to the Eastern coastline as we can, and dim all the lights. With any luck we may see some rain to hide us, as well."

"What if the Easterners alert the Isles?"

"General von Helm believes that to be unlikely. They will not want to risk angering the League; the likeliest outcome is that the Eastern Mountains will conveniently neglect to notice us." He tracked the course again. "When we reach Hagenkopen, we will blockade the city with our navy; with any luck, that should be enough, but if not the League will follow with a second wave of supplemental ships from the Baltic. The king and his war council will be forced to retreat inland towards our forces in the south, and we will have decimated approximately a quarter of their navy. We can return south afterwards to trap their remaining ships along the rebellious coastline."

The first officer was nodding. "An impressive plot, sire. If this succeeds, we could shorten the length of the war by several months."

"I am glad to hear you approve." She looked up, surprised. "You've served us well all these long years, _Frau _Captain-Lieutenant. If you believe this can succeed, then I am confident it will."

She smiled and saluted. "Sire. Shall I inform the rest of the fleet?"

"Yes—and have the captain of the _Benedikta_ arrested. If Heaven will grant us fortune, we may be able to bring this war to a swift close."

* * *

"Hi."

Elsa saw his head turn a few degrees in the dim light as he noticed her, auburn hair tussling slightly in the breeze. "Hey."

She climbed the last few steps to the quarterdeck and smiled back as he offered her a contented smile. "What are you doing out here?"

He quirked a brow and nodded to the wheel-pegs in his hand. "Steering?"

"I meant, why isn't the captain steering and you sleeping? You had me worried. I woke up and you weren't there."

"I did wake you up and tell you. You were quite grumpy."

"Did you?"

"Yes. I don't think you entirely woke up, though." He adjusted the wheel slightly. "In response to your question, I couldn't sleep, so I offered to take the wheel for a few hours. The captain was quite grateful."

"I see…"

The settled into a companionable silence. The faint wind was warm, and the rocking of the boat was soothing. The moonlight was dim, a narrow crescent on the starboard side, and Hans had lit a small flame which hovered lamp-like, just above the floor. "Calm seas, then?" the queen asked at last.

Her husband stirred. "Calm as a sleeping dog. The rain we saw on the horizon yesterday evening was moving ahead of us." A pause, and then he said softly, "I love nights like this. It's…peaceful. Not quiet, I hate quiet, but…tranquil."

"Don't you get bored?" He shrugged and didn't reply aloud. After a moment, he squinted up at the stars, and shifted the wheel again. "Don't you need a compass for that?"

"I used to take the night shift all the time when I served in the navy. You get to know the stars well enough, where they are during the seasons…" His crinkled with a wistful smile. "You know, I've read some recent anthropological studies that said the ancient Oceanic peoples could navigate the seas entirely by the stars. Can you imagine that? In those tiny little canoes, crossing the ocean—setting out into the unknown with no certainty that there was another island out there, or even that you'd find it if there was…just because you…felt you had to." The night sea air brushed against his face and ruffled his hair, his eyes peering starwards. "Because it was something _in_ you, a calling. A vocation."

His gaze seemed lost in the heavens for a long moment, before he returned to earth. "It reminded me of our ancestors," he said conversationally, "the ancient Scandinavians, crossing the Atlantic."

"And the Aragonians get all the credit," she said with an eye-roll, which prompted him to laugh.

"I've always felt that people were born to do certain things. That that thing in you that you were made to do—that you had to follow that with everything in you, no matter how far you had to go. That…on some greater scale, your story had already been written, and it was your job to follow it." His enthusiasm dimmed at that. "Of course, that's a silly…childish belief. And if you believe it, it can get you into a lot of trouble."

"You felt destined to be king."

He shrugged. "And we saw how far I took that little fantasy. 'Destiny' is a nice story people tell themselves to make themselves feel better about their lot in life. But life isn't a fairy tale. There are no predetermined villains or heroes." He snorted ruefully. "Hell, we're living proof of that."

"I suppose so. But…" He let out an abrupt yelp as his hands froze to the wheel.

"Cold, _cold–!"_

"I also think you're in a bad mood. I don't believe you've given up on 'destiny' so quickly."

"Save the philosophy and unfreeze me!"

"Mm-mm. This is practice; you have to unfreeze yourself." He glowed at her. "Go on."

With a sharp sigh, he closed his eyes. Through the layer of ice she saw a faint red glow appear. Little bubbles began to well up as the ice grew clearer, until at last he was able to wrench his hands free. She raised her eyebrows appreciatively. "Nicely done. And you didn't scorch the wheel, either."

_"Gah!" _He waved his hands and blew on them, trying to get warmth back into the waxy skin. _"That_ was cruel."

"What's the phrase? Desperation is the mother of innovation?"

"Necessity and invention." She waved him off. "You were saying?"

She held out a hand, and he took it, albeit with an air of faux-mistrust. "You say it's childish to believe in callings and destiny." He glanced away, taking the wheel again with his free hand. "But I don't think you really believe that."

"You can't tell me you think a man like Agnar was destined to be a king."

Elsa shrugged. "Perhaps. He might make a good one, in time; he's certainly been trying these last few years." Hans didn't answer. "And besides, he is a Westergaard."

Her husband scoffed. "That's exactly the problem. Westergaards make destiny work the way _we_ want it to."

"Precisely. And that's what makes me think you haven't given up on your fairy tales." She used her free hand to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Mr. Andersen."

Hans couldn't help but smile at that, green eyes softening. He sighed and turned forwards again. "I suppose you're right, I'm just in a foul mood. But this war has rather shaken my faith."

"You're not alone," she confessed. "I know love is supposed to thaw, but this seems like too big a storm to just…will away. Not just this war, but all of it." She sighed. "Politics."

"Politics." They shared a rueful glance. "I thought I knew the answer," he murmured. "I thought I'd finally figured the world out—that you, and your sister and Kristoff, were right all along. That…'true love wins.'" He shook his head. "Now I'm worried that the cynical little idiot I used to be was right all along."

"And he'd be _such_ a smug arse about it, too."

"Such queenly language." She rolled her eyes with a smirk. "This has to work," Hans sighed. "It _has _to."

"It will. You've thought it all through, Hans; Agnar will see sense."

"My track record for plans turning out the way I want them to is not exactly stellar, Elsa. Besides, he might not listen. It _is_ a serious risk for him."

"He'll listen." She squeezed his hand. "Because that's what you do best. You sell people stories, convince them to see things from a different point of view. You…well. You spin people fairy tales."

"A dangerous skill in the hands of the wrong man."

"And a necessary skill in the hands of the right one."

Something in her tone caught his attention, and he narrowed his eyes, studying her. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she said, tilting her head in consideration, "that if other people are going to cheat, then to win the game honestly you have to be twice as good a player. And you have to be willing to use their methods as far as you morally can, right up to that line—and not one step further."

_Steel in her veins, wasn't it?_ "A difficult task for any young ruler."

"I know. And that's why I married you." She turned her gaze skywards, studying the stars. "And that's why, whether you believe it or not, I still have faith in my calling. I'm not sure I'd call it destiny, but I was born to be a queen, precisely for times like this. And I believe you were born to do the same."

Hans didn't answer that. They fell silent again, watching the stars, as the prince occasionally redirected the ship to follow their course.

* * *

There was a dense fog on the water when they awoke the next morning at dawn; the prince-consort had been relieved of duty several hours before and, at his wife's insistence, had gotten several more hours of sleep. "Captain," Hans greeted as they reached the top deck, shaking the man's hand. "How close are we to Hagenkopen?"

"Nearly there, sir. The Southern coast is just off the starboard side. We could see it a few minutes ago before the fog got too thick. We're considering putting down anchor so we don't run aground."

"Let me take the wheel again; I know this coastline like the back of my hand."

"Sir."

The wind, which had been warm the evening before, now was cool with the mist; Hans requested someone get his coat while Elsa peered into the fog off the right-hand side of the boat. Shapes loomed in the fog. "Are you sure you know the way?" she called over her shoulder, as they sailed past a rock outcrop in the near distance.

"The coast is usually this foggy this time of year. Don't worry, I've guided larger ships through the Sound in far worse weather than this."

He was telling the truth; despite the cragged coastline, the ship was never in the slightest danger, and the rest of the sailors paused on occasion to watch in admiration. "Impressive," his queen commented at one point, and he shrugged.

"Not really. Every captain in the Southern navy has to be able to navigate the Sound in their sleep." He winked at her. "How else will we fight off the axe-wielding invaders from the north?"

"Oh, please. The Isles were the invaders as often as not."

"My dear, you know as well as I that debating the justice of medieval campaigns is a fool's errand."

"Fair enough."

After about another hour had passed, the queen began to hear a strange noise in the distance. Other sailors paused and perked their ears. "Sir, those sound like cannons to me," said the captain.

Hans nodded. "Naval exercises; the Southern Navy runs them frequently along the coast of the city, even during peacetime. The Eastern Navy does the same on the other side of the Sound; they make a sort of competition of it."

Another faint cannon ring wafted through the fog. "I wonder who's winning," said the Captain.

"They only practice in certain areas, and I know where; don't worry, they won't pose any troubles to us. Although in this fog, they might not see us right away…you there, boy, yes you. Go hoist the Arendellian flag higher so they know we're a neutral ship. Wouldn't want them thinking we're League spies and trying to blow us out of the water."

"Sir!"

"Would they really do that?" Elsa asked as the cabin boy hurried away. "Fire without checking first?"

"Ordinarily no, but they're bound to be on a hair-trigger at the moment. Best not to take chances."

Another cannon-boom echoed through the air. "That sounded closer," she pointed out. Hans frowned.

"Yes, it did…Admiral Lund must have increased the exercises." He saw her face and reassured her: "But they're not about to fire on a neutral ship, especially not one carrying the Queen of Arendelle."

"But they don't know I'm on the ship," she pointed out. "And since we don't have the royal standard…" They had intended to take one of the royal naval vessels, but when the merchant who delivered the _Times_ offered them use of his faster ship, they had switched in a hurry. Nobody had remembered the forgotten standard until after they'd already reached the open sea. "For all they know, the ship has no reason to be here."

Hans considered this. "That's…a fair point." He tilted his head. "What if we sent some advance warning?"

"With what?" He waved his hand; a little puff of sparks appeared. She nodded. "Ah. That's not a bad idea."

"Nothing too spectacular—we don't want to intimidate them." He rubbed his chin. "I'll send up a flare, and you follow it with a winter wind. That should be fair warning."

"If you're sure…"

After informing the captain of their plan, Hans peered skywards, frowning. "I've never done this before. I think…" He snapped his fingers. For a moment nothing happened, and then, abruptly, a bright sunburst high above them turned the mist surrounding the ship a dazzling white-gold. Elsa shielded her eyes. "I think that did the trick. Your turn."

She waved her hand. A breath of wind rushed past the boat, shoving it forward with the sails and rocking it in the water, and then it was past them, dispersing the mist ahead of them. The wind rustled the trees on the starboard-side coasts and then unnaturally rounded the outcrop of rocky peninsula ahead of them. The cannon-sound rang out loud without the mist for another few seconds, and then, abruptly, fell silent.

Hans's face brightened as he turned to her. "See? They stopped. Now they know we're on our way."

* * *

The gust of icy wind, laced with snowflakes, rushed past the massed ships and into the city. For a long moment, the enemy sailors stared around. Even the cannons stopped firing.

"Captain," whispered the first officer of the _Første Rytter._ "Was that–?"

"Yes. It must be."

"But– whose side are they on?"

The captain held out his hand and squinted through the proffered telescope. The ships shifted and slid past each other uneasily as the fighting temporarily ceased and every sailor turned to watch north.

"If they fire on the Coronian ships, we'll know." He tightened his grip on the telescope.

"And if they don't, sir?"

"Then we'll know just the same."

* * *

"It's just around this peninsula here, isn't it?"

"Mm-hm. We should be able to see the Hagenkopen harbor here in a minute."

The ship turned. A gust of mist rushed past them, and then suddenly the air was clear. Every soul aboard the ship stood stock-still as an icy chill swept through them.

They floated along silently with the tide, as before them the nearly-still tableau painting of a desperate naval battle drifted into view. The Coronian and Southern standards waved half-heartedly in the chill wind, while in the streets beyond, lines of soldiers moved like little ants, preparing for a seige. Elsa clutched compulsively at her chest, eyes wide.

"No." Hans's face was disbelieving. "That's impossible." The queen turned to face him. "The papers would have reported it!"

"Impossible or not, it's true," said Elsa faintly. The boat drifted slowly closer to the battle scene in the waves. "Hans, you're their former admiral. What do we do?"

A breath of mist swirled around them and vanished. His eyes flicked from ship to ship. "We're under a neutral flag. If we turn around– no, dammit, they've seen us, that would look suspicious. Maybe if we run up a white flag…?"

In the near distance, there was a ruffle and a flash of white. Hans sucked in a sharp breath. The sail of the Southern ship caught the wind, and the boat began to turn.

"_Shit!"_

He lunged away from the wheel and over the rail of the quarter deck. "Someone run up a white flag! Quick!"

_BOOM!_

The sphere of sixty-eight pounds of cast iron missed the little merchant ship by feet. Hans swore. He swore even louder when he saw that other ships were following the _First Horseman's _course. "If they hit us we're dead!" he roared at the other sailors. "Evasive maneuvers!"

"Sir!"

The sails were released; the boat lunged forward. "Elsa, we need wind!"

"Why are they firing at us?!" she shouted, as another cannon rang out just as the winter wind filling the sails brought the ship forward again.

"They think we're on Corona's side!" He saw the painting abruptly come to life as a Coronian vessel fired into the side of a Southern ship. "So does Corona!"

"We need to stop them from hitting us, right?!"

"I am very, _very _open to ideas!"

She bit her lip, grimaced and then hiked up her skirt and slammed her foot against the deck.

A line of jagged icicles shot out, over the bulwark and down to the water. Ice fractaled out at a lightning pace, spreading across the fjord. She heard cries in the distance as the boats were tilted upwards out of the water, their wooden hulls seized in place by gripping claws of ice.

"You _brilliant_ woman!" She let out a noise of surprise as her husband kissed her and then raced back to the edge of the quarterdeck. "Have you got that flag?!"

"Sir, we're hoisting it now!"

The white sheet rippled in the unseasonal strong wind. Hans sighed. "That should deter–"

Another blast of cannon shot sailed past them. "Or not," Elsa said nervously.

"They can't hit us if they can't turn; why–" He peered over the bulwark and cursed under his breath. "Right. Fire at us and then take _our _self-defense as aggression, that's logical."

"What–?"

"They think the flag is a trick. They know we don't need to surrender, not with both of us on board–" He screwed his eyes up over the roar of another cannon reporting. "Corona sided with us, so it looks like we sided with Corona!"

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"_I _know that, but _they're_ panicking!" He swore as the optics became clear. "And we just froze over their harbor!"

"We didn't have a choice!"

Hans ignored this. "Captain, hand me that telescope!" The ship captain obeyed; Hans extended it and peered through the end. "Oh, we're–"

He recited a particularly colorful series of words which made the queen wince and handed the telescope back. He didn't need it anymore; the ant-sized people spilling out from the ships onto the ice were drawing nearer every moment. "Gentlemen," the prince said, turning to face the gathering crew on the upper deck. "This just became a land battle, and we're about to be in the middle of it." The peppering of gunfire had begun and was growing less distant with every passing second. "The Southern Isles has fired with intent to kill on the ship of the Queen of Arendelle, under a flag of surrender. They have made themselves your enemy; treat them as such." The men were nodding nervously. "Rest assured, your Majesty," Hans vowed, drawing his pistol, "we will defend you with our lives."

"Hans, wait–"

"Sorry, darling, but you're the queen and I'm expendable."

"You are not expend–!"

He swept her in by the waist and kissed her again, this time with passion. When they parted she was left gaping like a fish, weak in the knees.

"I love you." And then he'd swung himself over the side of the boat onto the ice below.

The Arendellians watched nervously as the converging lines approached. The Coronians were doing their best to get ahead of the Southerners and defend their new allies, but moving from a parallel position was difficult, and Hans could tell they weren't going to succeed. The battle would be on them in half a minute or less. His heart sounded loud in his ears; he'd fought pirates and engaged in military exercises before, but never in an actual battle. He watched his former countrymen approaching, knowing they had orders to kill, knowing what he'd have to do.

As the first wave of Southerners arrived, he steeled his will and fired.

The best that could be said was that the man's death was quick; Hans was a good shot, and saw the blood spray back onto the man's comrades before he dropped like a stone. The prince consoled himself with that, and then there was no more time for consolation or guilt because the tide was washing over them in a mix of Southern and Coronian soldiers. He fired his pistol again and saw a man fall. In the same moment an Arendellian crewmember fell beside him.

"Sir! To your left!"

Hans whirled around. What appeared to be an officer had drawn his cutlass and was charging him. _Must be out of bullets. _The words barely had time to cross his mind before Hans drew his sword, disarmed the man and gutted him like a fish. _Being left-handed has its advantages. _Among them, he noted, was the ability to wield a sword with one hand and fire a pistol with the other.

A screeching sound filled the air, and as if carved by a scythe a ring of ice around them vanished, creating a moat. Hans kicked the slain man's body into the water. On the other side the hand-to-hand fighting continued; he was grateful until a clever Southern soldier fired across the distance and gave everyone else the same idea.

Just as quickly, waist-high walls of ice rose in front of the ship, and the Arendellians ducked behind them, exchanging fire. Hans sheathed his sword again; a backwards glance assured him that his lovely bride was hiding behind the ship bulwarks, peeking out over the top. _Thank goodness they're solid._

The distraction cost him. One particularly brave—or stupid—Southern sailor had somehow jumped the icy waters and fired down over the block; Hans's head snapped around as the wind ruffled his hair. In the next second he heard the man scream and saw the bloodied icicle piercing his firing-shoulder. Teeth gritted, Hans peered over the ice barrier. Another Southerner was aiming his pistol at the queen in the ship. Elsa ducked, and Hans fired.

"Sir, I'm out!"

"There's too many of them!"

_I've got to do something. I'm the only one who can._ His eyes shot across the battlefield to the _Først Rytter, _the only ship of the _Four Horsemen _left in the harbor. The Southern masses were strongest on that side. _If I knock that out, they'll surrender and Corona will take Hagenkopen._

He glanced back at his men. The moment seemed to float, butterfly-like, as he scanned their faces. There was desperation in their eyes, begging him to save them.

A bullet whizzed over his head, and then a second, and he ducked. More bullets hammered on the other side of the ice, fractures spreading through the block. Through the ice he could see the Southern sailors aiming at the barrier, hoping to break through it or get a lucky shot. They knew what he could do. _They need to take me out. It's their only hope._

Which meant he had to take them out first.

The screams and sounds of battle filled his ears, and his resolve hardened. He'd have to stand up to get good aim. He'd almost certainly be shot. _Let's hope they don't hit anything too vital._ He took a sharp breath. He took a second. _Now!_

He made to move—and then stopped.

The man who had tried to kill him was whimpering on the ground behind the adjacent barrier, shoulder still skewered by the icicle. Elsa's precision was not to be underestimated, but the icicle had been thin, and he'd managed to break it off and was now curled up with his good arm flung over his head.

"I know you." The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them. The Southern sailor peered at him in terror from under his coat-sleeve. "You served under me for a month. On the _Rødhåret Havfrue."_

The sailor's mouth worked wordlessly for several seconds. "A-Admiral."

Hans stared. Then he looked through the bullet-strewn block of ice. The ice beyond the moat was stained red. The water was choked with floating bodies, not all of them dead.

_What am I doing?_

He'd come here to stop a war, not fight in it. Arendelle had not intended to favor Corona, and here they were, fighting on their behalf. The reasons why wouldn't matter in the history books. Nothing would, if he didn't stop this now.

_You need to talk to your brother. You need to stop this battle. How do you do that?_

Up on the deck, the Queen cowered behind the bulwarks, having crawled away from her original position. She could see the wood splitting there as it was hammered repeatedly with gunshot—gunshot intended for her. Her shaking hands were clapped over her ears. The noise was deafening over even the blood pounding in her skull, but she didn't dare raise her head to see what had happened to her husband and men. _They're dead. I know they're dead._ A cannon rang out in the distance, followed by a chorus of cries. _I need to do something. _Someone nearby let out a blood-curdling scream. _I need to do something!_

She shrieked as the bulwark where she'd originally been hiding finally gave way before her in an explosion of splinters—and then she stopped. Then everything stopped.

The sky had filled with wavering bands of reddish-gold light. At first she thought, in confusion, that the Northern Lights had descended to earth. Then her shaking hand slowly clasped itself over her mouth. _Hans, no…_

On the ice below, the prince stood before them, his hand held aloft. Every eye was fixed on him in horror, and that part of him he didn't like, but which kept him alive, relished in their fear. He could do whatever the hell he wanted, and he knew they knew it. And he was angry. Well and righteously angry. They had come in peace. They had come under a neutral flag. They had come on the right day and the right hour, and this was how he and his crew were treated. These men had very nearly killed his queen and his wife, and they had forced him into an awful position. Oh, yes, he was angry.

But he wasn't a monster.

He clenched his fist, and in the sky above, wavering bands of gold-red light began to flash back and forth in a threatening dance. _"Lower your weapons!" _he barked.

The Coronians and Southerners stared at him, mouths agape. The fire in the sky increased to a lurid scarlet and gold, the ember-flecked winds beginning to pick up as the hot and cold air clashed together. _"NOW!"_ he roared at the sailors, like a man unhinged.

Slowly at first, with those in the first row stooping to obey, there was a ripple through the gathered crowd as gun and cutlass were lain down on the ice. No man among them wanted to be responsible for the destruction of a whole flotilla.

He spared a glance up over his shoulder. His pale-haired queen was peering over the railing at him, white-faced and white-knuckled. "It's alright, darling, you can come down now," he called, with far more cool confidence than he actually felt.

Slowly, looking around with the wariness of a frightened cat, Elsa created a staircase and descended from the ship. As she approached he took her hand. "So," he said pleasantly to those near enough to hear, in a quite frightening contrast to the tongues of fire still darting through the air over the harbor. "Here's what's going to happen: you're going to let us through to the harbor, and _nobody–"_ He shot a fierce glance around at the variously uniformed sailors, "–is going to restart these nasty hostilities until you hear from the King. _Am I understood?"_

Bobbing nods. Elsa created a bridge across the moat, and the crowd on the other side parted like a Biblical sea. _"Keep your head up and eyes forward," _Hans whispered to her out of the corner of his mouth. _"Right now we have the upper hand."_ Elsa gave the smallest of tense, bird-like nods. _"We just need to maintain it until–"_

And then he was scrambling sideways before he even knew what had happened. A spurt of flame shot out of his hands as the almighty shrieking, splitting _crack! _ricocheted through the silence and deafened him in the left ear. He whirled around and stopped.

The block of ice, two feet thick, seemed to stare back at him. The bullet stood out as a dark spot in the center of the half-fractured barrier, at precisely the height of his nose. Elsa stood panting beside him, her hands raised, and the man who had fired the shot dropped his pistol onto the ice again with a clatter, pale as death.

There was utter silence as they walked, swiftly and brusquely, through the enemy armies to the pier. He got up first and pulled her onto the dock, and they turned. The two opposing armies were looking back at them, as if uncertain what to do next.

They turned and hurried away, shielding themselves behind a town building as soon as possible. Hans glanced to Elsa out of the corner of his eye. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she said tightly.

She wasn't fine, and he knew it. But she'd be alright until there was time to address it properly. "I'm okay," he reassured her quietly. She gave a short, jerking nod, and he took that as a sign she didn't want to talk about it.

They were down the street before she spoke again. "Hans? You were bluffing...weren't you?"

"Yes." He looked at her. "Do you trust me?"

"I do." She hesitated. "But how did you know it would work?"

"Because I know _they_ don't."

* * *

The disparity between the utility of their powers couldn't help but make him envious, watching the ice staircase spiraling upwards to the window. "I used to have to climb the ivy."

"Really? What for?" She saw him blush as they started to climb. "I always thought your little analogy when we snuck out to see that Christmas pageant was a bit too specific."

"Shut up."

"What was it you said again? 'I'm not some rebellious teenager, sneaking out the window to dance the night away?'"

"I'm glad my teenage antics give you such amusement."

They reached his bedroom window quickly. It was, mercifully, empty. "They'll be here any minute," Hans analyzed, hurrying for the door. "I'd rather not have this conversation surrounded by my childhood knicknacks."

"Fair enough."

His estimation was right; they'd barely reached the staircase before the king and his war council appeared at the top of it. Hans straightened his overcoat. "Ah. Brother."

"Hans." Agnar's voice was a dry drawl. "I don't suppose you'll tell me why your sovereign has frozen over my fjord?"

"We wanted a word with the king," Hans said smoothly. "Information which I believe will be rather to his benefit."

"Have you come to help us in the war?" one of the majors said eagerly.

"In a manner of speaking." His eyes had not left his brother's. "Although Arendelle is maintaining her neutrality." _Come now, brother, read my mind…_

"Very well." Apparently his poor attempt at telepathy had worked; Agnar turned down the hall. "This way, brother–"

"Absolutely not!" said the major, red in the face, and the king turned back in surprise. "If this– this _traitor_ is not willing to stand with his countrymen–"

"Respectfully, Major Stenberg, it is not your opinion which matters. Your Majesty, if you please–?"

"Stand down, Major."

"But he's a traitor! He should be hung! He should be beheaded!"

"Indubitably," said Hans coldly, "Now get _out of my way."_ He shoved past the major and began descending the stairs. He passed Admiral Lund on the way and saw the cool calculation in the man's eyes. "Admiral Lund."

"Your Highness. Congratulations on your marriage." He glanced up the stairs. "Major Stenberg, your king gave you an order. Enough with your spluttering. Your Majesty, shall we wait for you downstairs?"

"Yes, Admiral, I think so. Hans, this had better not be a waste of my time."

And just like that, the situation was settled. Hans gave the admiral an almost invisible nod of his thanks as Agnar began to follow them down the stairs, Elsa at the back. "Where to, your Majesty? Your office?"

"Yes, I think that's most appropriate."

The tension could be cut with a knife. It wasn't until they'd rounded the landing and the rest of the war council had vanished below to the first floor that Agnar turned and gave him a look.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting a blockade!" Hans hissed.

"Neither were we, but I'm not the one making excuses. Announcing your arrival with that idiotic fireworks display, what was the thought process behind that?And then you froze the harbor–"

"Your men were firing at us! _After_ we ran up a flag of surrender!"

"First the League attacks us at dawn and then you arrive without warning; what were they supposed to believe!"

"At dawn– this was a surprise attack?"

"Gentlemen." Both turned. Elsa nodded her head down the hallway. "Listening ears."

Both followed after her, looking sheepish, and didn't speak again until they reached the king's office. Once inside, Agnar crossed his arms again. "I ask again: are you trying to get yourself killed? I thought I made the point very clearly that you weren't to return to the Isles until all this was settled."

The prince ignored this. "Brother. Remind me, again, why exactly you're in this futile mess of a war?"

"You know the reason perfectly well! Without the support of the military and aristocracy–"

"Exactly: you need the support of the military and ruling houses lest you court a coup." He grinned. "What if I told you your clever, devoted, charming younger brother–"

"Hans," his wife sighed.

"–What if I told you I had a way to fix that?"

"I'd say you were full of hot air," the king retorted bluntly.

"You did make me ambassador to Arendelle for the duration of the war," Hans pointed out. "At least hear me out."

He explained his plan to Agnar. When he was finished, the King still looked doubtful.

"That is one hell of a risk, Hans."

"If it doesn't work," the prince vowed, "then you will have the entire army _and_ navy of Arendelle to back your claim to the throne."

"Don't be ridiculous." The younger brother fell silent. "Arendelle's navy can't match ours, and you can't easily transport land troops across the North Sea. And you have made it clear you will not engage personally as a combatant unless it concerns Arendelle's safety specifically. You can offer me amnesty, and not much else."

"He's right, Hans." They looked over to where the Queen was standing by the window. "Without our personal help, our navy wouldn't be of much use. And I don't think levying our magic against the Southern army is going to make him look good to anyone in the Isles, aristocracy or commoners. We've already done enough damage today alone." The king gestured his agreement. "However…Hans is right too, Agnar. This was always going to come down to force, and we all ought to have seen that sooner. If you refuse to enfranchise the people they are going to rebel; if you do so, then the aristocracy and military will eventually attempt a coup. You need an army at your back and the Isles' own isn't going to do it. This is your one chance of maintaining power without starting a civil war."

"Even if that's true," Agnar countered flatly, "I can't risk surrendering to the League. They might not agree to my offer."

"Why wouldn't they?" Hans challenged. "This is good for them, too; especially after the war–"

"We are a small kingdom, Hans. Militarily powerful, true, but clearly the League has more than enough military might without us." Hans had to concede this. "There are better options for von Eisen—Francia, perhaps Dun Broch—if there's _any_ chance that the Chancellor would oppose it…no. Better to let the war run its course, and then pursue avenue this afterwards."

"Brother, listen to me. If we can manage this, your popularity with the common people will increase beyond your wildest imaginings; you could pursue every project we've discussed! Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Of course. But to end the war without assurances–!"

From her position near the window, the queen watched silently, studying the exchange. The prince was making no headway against the king, and was growing desperate. Sooner rather than later her husband was going to do or say something imprudent.

"Hans. Enough." Agnar held up a hand, cutting his brother off mid-sentence. "You are asking me to take a risk that I, that the _Isles, _cannot afford."

"A risk that could pay off a hundredfold!"

"And one I can take _after_ we've lost the war and the aristocracy is satisfied!"

"Agnar, you are _losing_ the support of the common people! How long until they decide that the monarchy, pardon me, the _bourgeoisie_ is more trouble than it's worth?" The king glowered at him. "And the aristocracy will _never_ be satisfied with you so long as you continue to modernize the government; you need to stop pursuing their approval and destroying your popularity with the one base that might still favor you!"

"Popularity? What do I care for popularity; what I need is support! _Power, _Hans! The aristocracy has it, not the peasantry! Improving the lot of my people is not the same thing as being loved by them; if I surrender and this scheme of yours fails, I will have as good as guaranteed my own usurpation! But if I move cautiously, and placate the nobility and military for the time being–"

"For the time being! How long are you going to tell yourself that lie, brother?! They will use you like a puppet for the rest of your reign unless you stand up to them now, unless you remind them who's k–!"

"_Enough!"_ Hans shut his mouth, suddenly looking frightened. Agnar's face had gone red with anger. "You are not a king, Hans, and you never have been!" The younger brother's face flushed an ugly red. "You do not understand the situation—how could you even hope to?! But I do." He stood and began to pace. "I know too well what our people face if one of our brothers is put into power here," Agnar said darkly. "I know from experience how they will rule."

"Agnar–"

"Eight years ago I took the throne." The king turned, and, back in the chink of gray sunlight, the Queen of Arendelle saw in the strong harsh nose and heavy brow that same thing which the rest of her kind hid so well under neatly trimmed military mustaches and tidily barbered hair: the face of the ancestral raiding king. "Tell me, Hans, what did I do with my reign?" Hans didn't answer, but there was a tick in his jaw. "The King of the Southern Isles has asked you a question, _Arendellian_. Stand and give him your answer."

There was a pause. Then the prince-consort stood.

"Nothing." Hans's answer was hissed from behind clenched teeth, and his eyes had gone a dangerously sharp green. "You did _nothing."_

"I never once denied the aristocratic lords' requests for higher taxes When the city suffered a plague, I spared not a single øre of that money to assist the hospitals. And what did I care if men worked themselves to death in debtors' prisons, while their families starved on the streets? Funding the navy took precedence. Our expansionist, imperialist history foretold a great _destiny,_ which I was to fulfill."

"You took bread from the mouths of _children."_

"My debts are overdue. I owe my people, for every impoverished soul frozen in our streets. I owe them for each cent I took from their pockets, each empty table. And I will not rest until I have paid them back double what they are due."

The two brothers' eyes were locked, jaws tight. The Queen of Arendelle looked between them: to her husband, his fists clenched like a child's, his face full of years of seething repressed resentment; and to the king, shoulders tensed like Atlas beneath the weight of the globe, the burn scars on his wrists and neck pale and knotted.

And suddenly, she realized where Hans had misjudged, where they had all misjudged. Agnar was not the sort of man who had ever been able to believe in fairy tales. But there was one thing he did believe, with a burning certainty. _Hans can't do it. It has to be me._

"You have never worn the crown. Your sins have been petty. You have never been responsible for the catastrophes that can befall a kingdom. And until that day arrives, do not presume to tell me of my obligations. You cannot begin to conceive of what they entail."

"You're right. He can't."

Both brothers turned. The queen looked back at them, hair a platinum halo in the pale light, blue eyes dark and sharp like ocean ice. "But I can."

The king scoffed as she approached. "Do you presume to lecture me? Your people adore you." Elsa met his eyes. "The philosopher-queen of Arendelle. What would you know about debts?"

"By ancient Arendellian custom, no sovereign can take the throne until her twenty-first birthday." The sharpness of her tone silenced him. "At eighteen, however, a loophole in the modern laws allowed that I _could_ serve as my own regent. My father had had plans to install telegraph lines, before he died. Railways. There was legislation drafted, to be presented to his council. I could have continued his work. Instead, I locked myself in my room out of fear."

Agnar watched her silently. She stopped before him, face lifted coolly to study his.

"My kingdom stagnated. The council did their best, but with their executive as a recluse and they themselves too loyal to usurp me, what else could they do but maintain the course? Then on my first _day_ as queen, I ran away from my mistakes, from my royal duties, and left my inexperienced little sister and your brother to clean up my mess. I left my kingdom to cope without their monarch with _no _intention of ever returning to learn of their fate. In those three days, I destroyed half the upcoming autumn harvest in the Western Province and the same's fishing industry for the year, and terrified the entirety of Europe into believing a Scandinavian kingdom was ruled by a flighty sorceress."

She folded her hands politely over her skirt. "And now here I am, five years later, wandering into a naval blockade because of a two-day shipping delay on foreign intelligence, the royal treasury at its lowest reserves in fifty years, and being courted as a human siege engine by the various world powers. Humbly, I'd propose I've learned a great deal about taking responsibility for my mistakes. One particularly dear-bought lesson was that a guilty conscience is not the same thing as a sound one."

Agnar looked away. With a wave of her hand, the queen conjured a royal orb of ice.

"A wiser queen than I recently told me that we cannot serve one principle by violating another," she said quietly. "Your Majesty, you and I made oaths, before men—and before God."

"To preserve the peace of the Church," said Agnar lowly. "To protect the realm. To maintain justice."

She held out the orb. After a moment, he accepted it.

"The duchies are not yours. When all is said and done, when politics and national pride are stripped away, _that_ is the truth. They are ill-gotten gain from a darker age, never truly enfranchised, and now they demand your justice—all while your citizens are being sacrificed to a war you cannot win." Her expression was unyielding as stone. "Surrender the duchies. End the war, and let them go."

Hans watched his brother intently. Agnar stared down at the glassy orb with narrowed brow and pensive eyes. At last, he raised his head.

"If I do this—if this plot of yours fails—it could destroy everything I've worked for. I have a duty to my kingdom."

"You owe it your life. Not your soul."

Agnar did not reply, and Elsa did not yield, her gaze pinning him. In the end, the king sighed. "Well, brother, I can see why you married her."

"Wish me luck."

The king half-chuckled. "I'll exchange congratulations later. At the moment, I need to write a letter." And at last, Elsa smiled. "But, I'll request you both accompany me." He nodded to the door. "I have no intention of explaining this to those hawks on my own."

"Oh, brother, don't worry," Hans said with a grim smirk. "Being an eternal disappointment to the Isles is my speciality."

* * *

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but I'm afraid we don't understand."

"It is time to stop fooling ourselves." Agnar held himself with all the cold arrogance he normally carried, and Hans had to admit his brother was not a half-bad actor. "The time has come to take real stock of the situation. We have already seen here today what the League is capable of with the Coronian fleet alone. What if the League had decided to supplement it with their Baltic fleet?" There was an uncomfortable stir among the gathered admirals and generals. "Hagenkopen would have been lost in a matter of hours. At this point, we have no choice but to admit that surrender is the only reasonable option."

"But your Majesty, the international optics–"

"Every kingdom in Europe can see that we are outmatched. The optics will be worse if we continue to fight a futile war. The Queen of Arendelle has graciously come all this way to offer her services as a negotiator between ourselves and the League; I believe it is in our best interest to accept her offer."

"You." Hans turned cool eyes upon the major who had spoken before, whose face was turning an apoplectic puce. "You did this, you– you _national embarrassment!"_

"Clever," the prince praised. "Did you come up with that one yourself?"

"Major, that's enough." Agnar's tone was a threat in itself. "I am your king; you will hold your tongue in my brother's–"

"I knew it!" the major howled at the prince. "I knew you'd ruin this, I knew it as soon as I saw your witch-queen freeze the harbor!"

"Ruin this?" Hans said, raising his eyebrows with a ghastly smirk. "Why, Major; you almost sound like you _want_ this war to continue; I can't imagine why–"

"_Shut up!"_ The man's eyes were wild with anger. "I've had enough of listening to you, Westergaard! You arrogant, _pompous–"_

"Westergaard? It's Andersen nowadays, actually."

"Hans, stop baiting him. Major, stand _down."_

"Your Majesty," said another one of the generals, side-eyeing Major Stenberg, who was heaving with rage. "The major may have a point. Please, I ask you to reconsider–"

"I will not reconsider. The war is futile. Anyone who can't see that is welcome to excuse himself from this war council and relearn his trade." The generals and admirals gaped at him. "Admiral Lund. Your opinion?"

Hans turned his eyes to his former commander. The Admiral, cool-faced, tilted his head and considered the matter. The others watched him.

"The King is correct. To surrender so early will be no small embarrassment, but there is no point in spending resources on a worthless fight."

Hans let out a quiet breath. _So. There is still loyalty in the Isles, after all._ He scanned the faces of the other generals and admirals. They were exchanging glances that spoke silent volumes. _That, however, is not good._

"No." Major Stenberg had found his voice again. "No. You can't do this."

"I've had enough of your insubordination, Major. Lund, reduce his rank to whatever gets him out of my presence. Hans, your Majesty, with me."

"You're demot– you can't–" Hans scoffed as Agnar passed the Major by. "You can't do that! My family has served you faithfully!" The king ignored him. "You'll regret this, Westergaard, mark my words! Do you hear me?! You will rue this day!"

Hans was abruptly inflamed. "How _dare_ you."

"Hans, let it–"

"You listen to me, you ignominious little _cretin._ You will refer to your _king_ by the appropriate title, or so help me I will—_take your hand off that pistol, sir!"_

There was a deafening _BANG! _that made everyone recoil violently as the gun went off. When they unscrewed their eyes they saw the major hunched over, gasping out half-screams. The gun had misfired and exploded a second after being drawn, leaving his hand a bloody, half-mangled mess. He had never even pulled the trigger.

"Alright," said Hans, with a smile that was all teeth and no mercy, "anyone else want to try something clever?!" The generals and admirals looked around nervously but did nothing. "Glad to hear it. I'd hate to make you all applicants for the Medal of Service."

"Be at ease, your Highness." Admiral Lund was peering down at the major, who had dropped to his knees in pain. "I will ensure that this traitor receives swift justice for such indignity—and in the presence of a lady, too."

"No." The admiral glanced up in surprise. "Begging your pardon, but if the king will allow it, have him brought to the infirmary. I want to speak with him myself." Hans glanced at Elsa. "Arendelle has a policy of mercy towards attempted assassins—to an extent."

The admiral looked to the king, who gave a single nod. "…As you wish, your Highness."

The pair followed Agnar through the halls. When they'd reached the ground-floor landing, Elsa murmured quietly, "Hans, don't you think that was a little–"

"Too far? After he tried to shoot me?"

"Granted, but he didn't actually hurt-"

"That, Elsa, was Major Stenberg. Funny thing about him, but his eldest brother is lord of a _very_ wealthy province. Funnier thing, but that province has recently had several thin years—hard winters, you know, not that it's surprising. But somehow the province has managed to pay their full taxes to the crown, _dedicated_ retainers, they are."

"I don't follow–"

"On an entirely unrelated note, his wife's brother-in-law just happens to be a _very_ successful Francian merchant who specializes in Unified Colonial weaponry."

The Queen's eyes widened. "He's an arms dealer?"

"More likely a money launderer for them. We've always suspected as much; now I'm almost sure of it. War is profitable, Elsa; there are many little niches a wealthy family with a lot of connections can fill. And what does it matter if the baker's son dies in a ditch? I wonder how many of the rest of them have their own petty interests at stake here."

She nodded pensively. "The Major might have been the most vocally displeased, but he wasn't the only one."

"No, he wasn't." It was Agnar who had spoken, his back to them. "I anticipated that, but Lund's loyalty may help contain matters for a while and buy me time. Although I'm going to have to set an extra palace watch for the foreseeable future. I doubt they'll try anything too hastily, but I'll be needing a personal guard—and I can't trust the military."

"I've thought of that," Hans replied. "And I think I know just the man."

"Send for him. This is going to be an interesting two weeks."

* * *

"Your Majesty, sir."

King Frederick turned. The first officer had appeared in the doorway of the cabin, and the king set the maps down. "Captain-Lieutenant. Is the fighting resuming?"

"No, sir." And then he saw the hope in her eyes. "Come and see, sir."

The king followed the lieutenant up the steps to the upper deck and saw his crew gathered against the starboard side, peering inland towards the Southern forces. Then he saw that their heads were tilted skywards, and followed their gazes.

"It's over, sir." The first officer's voice was softly pitched with wonder. "Not just the battle, the whole war. We did it."

The king watched as one by one, the Southern ships raised identical white flags to the one flying over the Southern castle.

"No, Captain-Lieutenant." The woman looked up to her captain and monarch as he shook his head, watching the field of white flags rippling in the breeze. "This wasn't our doing."

* * *

"Bring him over there."

"Yes ma'am."

_"Princess!"_

Rapunzel raised her head. The cry had come from across the hospital; when she found Cora's face, she saw that the junior nurse had gone pale, and her heart stopped.

"Your Highness," Cora pleaded, as Rapunzel rushed past her. "It's–"

She knew who it was.

The mud splashed up her boots and onto her apron as she pushed through the gathering crowd, tears of panic already brimming in her eyes. _Please. Please, be alive, just let him still be alive–_

She burst through the front of the crowd and stopped.

"–Complete ceasefire; I saw the white flags myself. We need to get a message back to Cölln-Bärlin." Eugene turned, and his grin was more radiant than the sunshine itself. "Heya Blondie. Listen, I've got good–"

And then the princess had thrown her arms around him and was sobbing into his shoulder.

* * *

"Sirs, we've just received word from the front."

The war council raised their heads. The messenger held out the dispatch. General von Helm scanned it and then looked up.

"Send for the Chancellor and His Imperial Majesty."

Within half an hour, the summoned men had arrived. The general handed off the telegram to his king, who reviewed it, and then passed it to the Chancellor.

"When did this happen?" von Eisen said, frowning.

"Early this afternoon, Chancellor. Their field marshal ordered the ceasefire shortly after one-o-clock. And a messenger should be arriving shortly with the letter from Hagenkopen. Apparently their king is ready to surrender."

"So soon? That is…certainly unexpected," von Eisen said, studying the telegram with furrowed brow.

"I was under the impression that the Southern Isles intended to fight on to the bitter end," said the Kaiser.

"We've also received word from a scout." The general handed over a short report. "Prince Johannes and Queen Elsa arrived this morning. They interrupted the blockade."

"Interrupted?"

"Apparently the Southerners fired at them under a neutral flag. In response, the Queen froze the harbor and Prince Johannes made some substantial threats until a ceasefire was arranged."

"Excellent."

"Sir?"

"Prince Johannes," the Chancellor said thoughtfully. "I wonder…" _Did he realize my aims himself? _"That's a man to watch. Gentlemen." The generals straightened up. "I believe the Isles intend to sue for peace. It may be time to draft up our terms."

"Forgive me, Chancellor, but it is, at this point, only a ceasefire."

But General von Helm was eyeing his old friend closely. "What gives you such certainty, Otto?"

"Call it a hunch. But I suggest, General, you bring out your heavy coat. Arendelle can still be quite cool this time of year."

* * *

"We've set up the overflow hospital here, your Majesties."

The physician guiding them gestured to the manor house, over which a scarlet-cross flag had been hung. Men were lying, groaning, in the road around it, while nurses and corpsmen hurried between stretchers, packing bandages and running triage. "You're treating both sides," Elsa noted, seeing both navy Coronian uniforms and gray-blue Southern uniforms mixed together among the wounded.

"Scarlet Cross rules, your Majesty. Death doesn't care what uniform you're wearing, so neither do we."

The queen studied the physician. "You're not Southern, are you? Your accent is Genevian."

The physician inclined his head. "Dr. Amadeus Appia, your Majesty. Scarlet Cross delegate to the Southern Isles to observe and report back on the war."

"How do you do." They shook hands.

"Would you like to go in?" The two royals shared a glance. Seeing their expressions, the physician added: "It would mean a great deal to the wounded to meet the royalty who just ended the war."

"Ceasefire," Hans murmured, but it was half-hearted. He took a deep breath. "Well. If it's for the men, I guess we can't say no."

The doctor led them inside. They view was momentarily blocked by a bustling nurse, and then she was past and both royals stopped short.

The scene washed over them in waves, impressions barely having a chance to sink in before new ones followed. Men and women lay stretched out on cots, some with bloodstained bandages, some missing limbs, some staring numbly at the ceiling. The stench of blood and worse things filled the air along with the groans and soft weeping of those dying, or near death. Nurses shrouded in white smocks moved from stretcher to stretcher. The prince quickly pulled his kerchief out of his pocket and covered his nose and mouth; Elsa looked only marginally less queasy.

"First time at war, your Majesties?"

Both turned, looking to their guide. Horror must have shown on their faces, for his grim humor faded away into embarrassment. "I'm sorry. Sometimes we forget not everyone is used to this."

"Doctor! Could I get your help over here?"

"Excuse me, please. I'll send someone for you shortly."

The Genevian physician left them to stand there, alone and inadequate, in the heart of the quietly contained chaos. Those nearest to them were stirring, peering at them like visions or ghosts.

_"It's them…"_

_ "They say they stopped the war…"_

"What do we do?" the queen whispered. The prince opened his mouth to answer and then shut it again, drawing a nauseated, shaking breath. "Hans, are you alright?"

"I–" He swallowed and tried to settle his stomach. He'd seen men die before, had even killed before, but this was something different. Quiet suffering, away from the rush of battle. And the _smell… _"I'm fine. I suppose we should…help. Somehow."

"Excuse me, your Majesties." They turned. A nurse curtsied. "Dr. Appia sent me. He said I should bring you to the post-operative ward, introduce you to some of the wounded?"

"Right…"

The nurse led them up the stairs to what had once been bedrooms. The air was cleaner here, and those who were conscious immediately took note of them.

"Is that– no way," one of the men said in a hushed voice, peering at them from the nearest bed. He was lying flat, and from what Elsa could see was missing an arm. Her stomach twisted, but she nonetheless plastered on a regal smile.

"Ah– hello, everyone."

"Is it true? Are we surrendering?"

There was a pause as every eye turned to the prince, who was lingering in the doorway. He hesitated, and then nodded. "That's what your king tells me."

There were sighs of relief through the room. "I knew it," one of them nearest him said proudly. "I knew you wouldn't just abandon us here to get killed by the League."

"I'm afraid I don't understand–"

"Everyone knows you did it. You're the only Westergaard who's ever given a damn about us common people." There were murmurs of assent throughout the room. "We all know who really forced the King into changing things around here."

_It's like they've all forgotten. _He looked to his queen, who inclined her head, eyes glittering proudly at him.

"Don't be too harsh on my brother. He's in an unenviable position." He sat down next to the sailor and glanced at the sheet tacked to the end of the bed. "Where are you from, Corporal?"

"Ålborg, sire…"

"Good afternoon," the queen greeted, sitting down beside a young Coronian woman. "How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?"

"No, your Majesty. They gave me opium, I think."

"That's good to hear…"

The sailor peered up at her. "Your Majesty? Are you alright?"

The "Snow Queen" of Arendelle, for just a moment, glanced away. The sailor noticed the way her hands, clasped in her lap, were trembling ever so slightly in their silk gloves.

But then the queen looked back, with that same kindly smile.

"I'm not the one who's been wounded. You're from Corona, aren't you?"

"Yes ma'am—the Royal City. I've served in His Majesty's navy for three years…"

The nurse came to hover at the edge of the bed. "Your Majesty? I hate to be a bother, but if it isn't too much trouble, would you be able to make some ice for us to chip? It's helpful for some of our patients…"

* * *

"Your Highness."

Hans stood and thanked the sailor with whom he'd been speaking. Dr. Appia gestured for him to follow out into the hallway. "There's a man here who says he's been waiting to speak to you."

"A man? Who?"

"A Major Stenberg, sir. He says he's been waiting for several hours."

"Oh– right." He rubbed his eyes. It was nearly sundown, and after hours of biting back disgust and pity for the wounded, petty grudges suddenly didn't seem so important. "Thank you, please take me to him."

The halls were slowly quieting down in the manor-turned-hospital. "Have all the wounded been treated?"

"Nearly, your Highness. Here in the city we had been mobilizing as quickly as we could for a much larger battle, but thanks to you and the Queen…Ah, he's in here, sir."

"Thank you." Hans gave the doctor a nod and then slipped inside.

It was a small room—by the type of pictures hung on the walls, a wealthy child's nursery, now turned into a ward for amputees and limb injuries. There were only six beds; the occupants of the other five were badly injured and therefore morphine-drugged to the point of unconsciousness. His eyes were drawn in a sort of macabre fascination to one man who had lost both of his legs.

"You."

Hans turned, and found himself facing the full glare of Major Stenberg. The man's hand was bandaged in soft white linen. He waved it at the prince.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I see they didn't amputate it." The words tumbled out before he could stop them, or find something cleverer.

The major sneered at him. "That's not the point! It's useless! Can't pull a damn trigger; I'll never serve in the field again!"

"How tragic," Hans said coldly. "Though I'm sure you'll be perfectly employable at a desk job."

"I hope it was worth it." Stenberg was seething. "I hope you're enjoying all the boo-hooing and hero-worship, Westergaard, because things are changing in the Isles! A new order is coming to power, and when it does–"

"Look around you, Stenberg," Hans sighed. The lack of rest from the night before was beginning to weigh on him; suddenly all he wanted was a hot bath and some sleep. "I've seen a lot of men die today, I've killed some of them. Do you think I care about your petty grudge? –You know what, why am I even here; this is a waste of my time." He waved his hand vaguely and turned to go. "I've spoken to my brother; you won't be facing any charges for attempted regicide. I leave your fate to Admiral Lund."

"That queen's made you soft."

The prince stopped, his hand on the doorknob. The major laughed, an ugly, jeering sound.

"You and your brother both! Do you really think this matters? Ingratiating yourself to the commoners?" He snickered. "Trying to wipe your slate clean?"

There was a brief pause, in which the major watched the prince with the greedy eyes of a child who has not yet learned not to bait a dog.

"…You know, Major, I don't usually play the role of prophet. But as a personal act of mercy, I have a warning for you."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"You can sleep soundly at night, knowing your name isn't in the press. You can count the bloodied coins and pretend that the stink of it doesn't get on your hands." His voice was as soft and silky as a snake in the grass. "But it's there, Major—oh yes, it's there."

"Is it now."

"Yes. And it doesn't wash off easy. I suggest you get a start on it."

The man gaped at him. "Why you–" Hans began to walk away. "Who gave you the– out of all people–!"

The prince ignored his ravings. He had already slipped out the door and disappeared.

* * *

"Your Majesty?"

The queen's green eyes scanned the letter, her finger trailing over her husband's cursive script. "When did this arrive?"

"Just this morning, ma'am. In the same delivery with the message from Cölln-Bärlin."

"This must have been written beforehand, then." She sighed and closed her eyes, pressing the letter to her heart. _So it's over. Just like that…_

"Your Majesty…" The maid hesitated, and then asked in a rush: "How– how many casualties were there, in the blockade?"

The queen opened her eyes, her gaze softening.

"Of course. Your brother enlisted, didn't he?" The maid nodded. "The toll was low, much lower than it could have been." The maid nodded again, looking relieved. "Have Princess Anna and Prince Kristoff sent to my office, would you? My secretary, too. Apparently…" She held out the letter again. "Apparently Arendelle has offered their services in the negotiation. Queen Elsa will be needing her ambassador back, I imagine."

The maid curtsied. "Your Majesty."

As the girl left, the queen closed her eyes again and leaned against the cloister wall, the letter crinkling in her hand. The rain _pitter-pattered_ against the garden paths in a soothing tattoo.

_Oh, Frederick, mein liebling…_it was over; her family—the family she had only just gotten back, after so many years apart—was coming home. But she knew many others had not been so fortunate. The queen folded the letter again as she entered the hallway. Her husband and daughter had served the League well. Perhaps it was her turn to do the same.

Her secretary curtsied as she arrived. "Your Majesty. You sent for me?"

"Yes; Franziska, please draft a letter to the new Duke of Weseldorf requesting permission for a visit."

"Your Majesty."

"Poor boy, still so young…I remember taking the throne at his age. I would have been grateful for some assistance."

"And I imagine," Franziska said politely, "Weseoldorf will remember Corona's kindness during this difficult time, and speak highly of it to the Kaiser."

The queen glanced up with a small smile. "I imagine so, yes."

Franziska left, and as the Queen waited for the Arendellians to arrive, she ran her finger over the edge of the letter._ Peace…_it was such a beautiful word. But she could not help but wonder what it had cost, and to whom.

* * *

The sun slipped slowly westward over the horizon outside the hospital windows, over the ships in the harbor, over the red slowly sinking into the silt. Three days had passed since the ceasefire; the Coronian fleet was set to return home, and niceties had been made between the former enemies. The Arendellian queen and prince-consort had already departed, leaving the harbor behind them free from any magical interference.

In the castle far above, in the setting sun, the king nodded to the groundskeeper as the old man unlocked the old oak door behind the chapel.

The king descended out of the red light into the ancient cellar, and the door was shut securely behind him. The quiet _thud_ echoed down through the depths for a while and then fell quiet, all sounds of the upper world silenced. Agnar held the lantern aloft, peering into the shadows. The stairway down was steep, and he would need to descend to the lowest landing.

The tombs at the uppermost level of the crypt were the most ancient; further cellars had been dug below them for each successive king. He had spent the night before his coronation here, keeping vigil in the earth-mound. At the time, it had been merely a nuisance of tradition and pageantry. Now, having nearly lost the castle, he understood better the significance: where he had begun his reign he would also end it.

He passed by the more ancient tombs—past the glittering horde of the king of legend, past the lion-hearted lord of stone who would, the legend went, rise to defend the Isles in their darkest hour—and sunk deeper into the gloom. The sarcophagi changed in style and extravagance with the passing of centuries as he wound his way down to the final landing. As he came to rest on the last step, he could feel the weight of the landings and the castle above him.

The air here was dead and silent, filled with dust. There were thirty vaults in the room, most of them empty: fifteen for the royal family, fourteen for spouses and one to round off the number—possibly for some trusted retainer. Though he had not told the man, Agnar had reserved that vault for Grimsby. As he made his way to the far end of the room, he paused for a moment beside the vault, closed yet empty, which bore the simple inscription of _XIII_ overtop the Southern coat of arms, the lions roaring open-mawed. That grave, then, was not likely to ever be used.

At the far end of the room, below a fresco of the Virgin, was a vault of honor. Agnar came to a halt before it. This vault had once been reserved for his future bride, but his first act as king had been to re-inter his mother there, rather than in the vault beside his father's. It felt, too, more fitting: whereas his father's grave, filled with ash, sat in the heart of the spacious room, this vault which held his mother's bones lay between two pillars of stone.

_To preserve the peace of the Church. To protect the realm. To maintain justice._ She had upheld those sacred oaths, through a loveless marriage, through a failed war, through the greedy machinations of his father and a worthless court. In spite of it all, she had sustained the Isles, and raised a king.

He set the lantern upon the ground, removed his crown, and descended to his knees before the Queen of the Southern Isles.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

* * *

The Royal Family of Teutonia, the Iron Chancellor and General von Helm were greeted with a traditional warm Arendellian welcome when they disembarked from their ship in the warm spring evening. The townspeople of the small city had gathered at the harbor in their Sunday best to greet the foreign nobility with many a curtsy and wave.

It was, Elsa reflected on watching them disembark, a far more _familiar_ reception than the people of Teutonia would have considered appropriate for their emperor.

Bows, handshakes and curtsies were exchanged. Anna, as the official ambassador, took the lead as they walked along the pier. She exchanged delighted giggles and cheek-kisses with Princess Louisa-Rose, and, after introducing the Kaiser to the Arendellian lords and ministers of the council (accompanied by further bows and curtsies), grabbed the young princess's hand. "There's someone you just _have_ to meet while you're here. Mrs. Olesdötter is the best baker in town, and she makes the most _wonderful _kransekake…!"

"My dear!" The Kaiser shook the Queen's hand warmly. "Our sincerest congratulations on your marriage."

"Thank you. We do apologize for not inviting your Majesty, but we were rather compelled by circumstance…"

"Quite understandable, quite. I'm afraid the wedding gift we commissioned has not been completed, but it should be arriving shortly."

"How kind of you."

They followed Anna and Louisa down the pier. "Tell me," said the Kaiser quietly, maintaining a pleasant expression as the townspeople peered on with varied expressions of interest or admiration, "has His Majesty King Agnar arrived yet?"

"I'm afraid not; we believe he may have been waylaid by the squalls in the North Sea."

"Ah yes. The weather was quite eventful on the journey…well, hopefully he will arrive by tomorrow."

"We anticipate such, your Majesty." _And this is the point, _she thought dryly, looking around at them all—Anna and the young princess enthusiastically shaking hands with the thrilled baker, Kristoff engaging in small talk with the Teutonian general—_this is the point where we all make up and take tea together, as if we were friends from long back, because war is business and we have reached an agreement which cost us, personally, nothing. _What was it the Duke had told her? _Food, money, soldiers, soil. _And now he was in a box in the ground, and his son wore his crown. She wondered if the young duke would have been able to take tea with the enemy. She wondered at what point in a war you couldn't help but price blood by the gold it cost.

At the back of the party, the new prince-consort took his place beside the Chancellor, giving pleasant nods and waves to the people. _"Herr _Chancellor," he said out of the corner of his mouth in Germanic. "How was your journey?"

"Oh, fine, thank you. Bit of rough weather, but nothing you navy types would consider a real storm. Congratulations on your marriage, by the way."

"Thank you." He gave a polite nod to the photographer of the _Herald, _who looked ready to snap a photograph; the nod he received in return delayed the picture just long enough that photograph which would appear in the morning edition would be of the group as a whole, not himself and the Chancellor personally. "I was wondering if you might join me for a drink in the library this evening, after the rest have…retired?"

"Oh?" The Chancellor gave a hearty wave to the people. "Business or pleasure?"

"With any luck? Both."

"Excellent."

They were greeted at the castle by the palace staff, who curtsied to the foreign nobility in their newly-pressed green uniforms and escorted them inside, to a wonderful dinner of Francian delicacies mixed with Arendellian national dishes. "A shame that His Majesty could not join us," said the Chancellor politely, as he flagged down a servant for another glass of champagne.

"Yes, I had hoped my brother would be here for the dinner. He does greatly enjoy the mutton stew here…"

_Do not come until well past midnight. _His instructions had been explicit, and he was pleased to find that Agnar seemed to be following them to the letter. _Blame the weather. When you arrive, make your apologies but explain that the journey has been tiring and you would like to turn in immediately. If all goes well, I will have brokered the deal before you so much as speak to the Chancellor._

"What a pity."

"Indeed."

* * *

"And he doesn't even know the woman?"

"I'm afraid not. But that's the way it is."

Anna whistled and shook her head. "And Hans thinks he can get the Chancellor to agree?"

"It's hard to say. They're the two most persuasive people I've ever met." Elsa opened the left-hand pane on the triangle-window and let out a sigh of relief as the spring air flowed into the stuffy room. "What do you think, by the way?"

Anna eyed the new window pane. "I like it. Not being able to open my window was always a real bummer." Elsa giggled. "But papa would _so_ be scolding you for wasting all the warm air…"

"We've tried everything else!" the elder sister exclaimed, as the younger laughed, a silhouette in braids before the warm crackling of the fire. "I get too hot with the fire, Hans says I make the room too cold without it–"

"You _do_ though, you absolutely do!" Elsa scowled and threw a spritz of snowflakes at her. "I'm serious! Do you know how many times I woke up when we were little–"

"Oh, hush."

"Shivering and covered in goosebumps–"

"That's because you kick the covers off," Elsa admonished, and Anna giggled.

"Anyway, I think you're wrong about Hans being the 'most persuasive person we know.'"

"Oh?" The queen sat down on the bed and began unbraiding her hair. "Did you have another candidate in mind?"

"You, obviously." Elsa blinked in surprise. "I mean, convincing King Agnar to stop the war—I don't know how you did it," her little sister said admiringly.

Elsa shrugged and got under the covers. "I didn't try to persuade him. I just told him the truth."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like."

Anna shook her head, bemused, and then stretched with a yawn. "I should get going. Big day tomorrow. G'night, 'don't let the frostbite bite.'"

"Goodnight, Anna. Sleep well." The younger sister opened the door to leave, and abruptly the elder changed her mind: "Anna?" The princess turned back to see the queen biting her lip. "Could you– I'm sorry, but could you stay here until Hans gets back? I…I don't want to be alone."

Anna's eyes widened in understanding, and she shut the door again. "Sure. Whatever you need." Elsa looked away, abashed. "…They, um, they told me you and Hans got stock in the middle of the blockade," the princess said carefully. She sat down on the edge of her sister's bed. "That must have been pretty scary, I mean, I know I would have been scared–"

The frost spiraled across the duvet as the queen squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't want to talk about it."

Anna nodded sympathetically. "That's okay."

"And this isn't 'conceal, don't feel,' I just–"

"Elsa." She opened her eyes as her sister took her hand. "We can talk about anything you like," Anna said earnestly. "Okay?" Elsa nodded, looking very small and terribly exhausted. "I could tell you about babysitting Princess Cressida. Would you like that?"

"Yes," the queen sighed, relaxing an inch. "Yes, that would be lovely." Anna grinned at her, and as always, her little sister's manner set the queen at ease.

"Scoot over; I'm not sitting here all night." Elsa chuckled and moved over, and her sister bounded up beside her. "Oh, Elsa, she's just the _cutest_ little girl, you wouldn't believe it. And a real troublemaker, too! You know Queen Arianna told me our mother used to be the same way? I bet it runs in the family." The queen smiled and rested her eyes as her sister continued: "One day we took a walk in the garden, and…"

* * *

A warm sea wind was blowing outside the window by the time the two men sat down in the Arendelle palace library that late hour—bringing in the last great storm of the spring, the navy officer reckoned. "I see you and the queen are in the middle of a game," said the Chancellor, studying the board on the table behind the couch; the pieces were set up halfway through a match. "She mentioned that you play quite frequently."

"Yes; it's our little break from paperwork. As you can see, she's winning."

"Does she often win?"

"About fifty-fifty, I'd say. She's become a much better player now that she has someone to play _against."_

"I can imagine. The Ambassador does not exactly seem the sort."

Hans chuckled, going to the fireplace. "The Ambassador is a woman of many excellent qualities, and a natural instinct for diplomacy. Chess, however, is not among her preferred pastimes."

"I see." The Chancellor sat down in the armchair with an appreciative glance at the board. "Tell me, how are things faring in the Southern Isles?"

Hans lit the hearth with a snap of his fingers; it roared to life, filling the room with golden-scarlet light and flickering shadows. "They could be going better, to tell you the truth," he said, pulling on his glove. "I'm sure you've seen the papers. Ending the war was a popular decision, but I'm afraid that hasn't quite translated into popular support for the monarchy that sent them to war in the first place." The Chancellor hummed his acknowledgement. "A certain amount of young men simply will not be returning home. The people's blood is up, and since the Isles has recently acquired a rather large amount of rifles…"

"Yes; that riot in Århus, dreadful thing. How many were killed?"

"Just two—trampled. My brother gave explicit orders that lethal force was not to be used under any circumstances."

"I see. Well, that was a prudent decision, though I wonder if it will be enough to quell the…public dissatisfaction."

_Public dissatisfaction caused by your actions. _"Yes; he's in an unenviable position." Hans immediately bit his own tongue. _Control your temper, man; you can't afford to offend him now._

But the Chancellor looked anything but insulted. His expression, strangely, seemed almost…appraising? "Indeed. As it happens, Prince Johannes, word has it you have a great deal of popularity in the Isles at the moment."

"Do I?"

"Mm—and even as your brother has rather fallen in favor, both in public standing and in the eyes of the aristocracy. The war has destabilized his position on all sides, it seems."

"Yes, it's a serious concern," Hans jumped on, seeing his opening to bring the conversation around to his own point. "The people don't care that he surrendered early, only that he sent their sons off to die at all—and the aristocracy are furious with the loss of the duchies."

"Precisely. Whereas you, on the other hand, have the almost universal support of the common people for persuading the king to end the war—and for not fighting against them on Corona's behalf."

Hans stared.

"Of course, the aristocracy and the military would never back your claim, considering you're even more for modernization than your brother," the Chancellor said with a shrug. "And the Arendellian navy can't quite match up to that of the Isles; her land army would in this case be, of course, rather useless."

"…A powerful land army from the south, however, would be of immeasurable use," said the prince slowly. _How unsettling,_ he thought, how deeply unnerving, to find a man who thought so much like himself…

"Indeed. Most particularly if this army were composed of young men whose lands you just helped liberate from an oppressor. I imagine it would be rather awkward for our young Southern rebels and Germanic soldiers to march shoulder-to-shoulder so soon after firing at each other, but I'm sure they could put aside their differences given the right incentive. And who knows? With the League's forces and a man like yourself working together, the Southern military might just reconsider where their loyalties lie before any bloodshed need occur."

Outside the windows, the early-May wind stirred the flowering trees, and the north sea beat against the fjord's rocky shore. The fire in the hearth crackled, the new tongues of flame licking upwards to taste the air.

"...Ahah." Hans gave a half-chuckle, rising to his feet. The Chancellor watched calmly as he went to his desk and undid the glass stopper on the brandy bottle. "Beautiful work, Chancellor. A masterful stroke, I must admit. Brandy?"

"Yes, thank you."

Hans nodded, pouring the glass as slowly as he dared, thinking. He replaced the stopper and returned, watching the liquor swirl in the glass.

What would have taken many men several hour's worth of concerted thought to understand (and many others simply would never have gotten there) took the prince only two swirls of his brandy. And what he thought in those two swirls was this: he thought about a world laid out like a war map, with pieces scattered throughout. On one side of the map he saw a white queen, with the power to move across the board at ease—except, it seemed, she would not. The queen was immovable. The rest of the board continued to play as though she did not exist. But he saw a little red pawn inching its way north, across the borders, and when it reached the other side, it too became abruptly, and dangerously, powerful. The pawn was clearly willing to move where it pleased—willing to change sides to arrange its own advantage. Willing to repay a helpful chessmaster when it gained the power of a queen.

_This was never about the duchies._

Hans looked up. The Chancellor looked back. He handed the brandy across.

"My sincerest gratitude, Chancellor, but I'm preoccupied with matters here in Arendelle."

"For the moment?"

"Indefinitely," Hans replied, firmly.

And for the first time since he'd met the man, he thought Von Eisen looked surprised.

"Interesting. May I enquire as to your reasons?"

"Not all men think in terms of chess, Chancellor."

"No. But you do."

The prince smiled wryly. "Not all men think _only_ in terms of chess."

The Chancellor looked thoughtful, and gave a nod. "Perhaps." He raised the brandy. "In that case, I wish you a happy marriage."

"My thanks." The prince took his seat as the Chancellor took a sip. "How is the brandy?"

"Excellent, thank you."

The conversation meandered around inconsequential matters for a time, before the clock struck the hour. Hans stood. "If you will pardon me, I really must be turning in. The Queen enjoys reading before bed, and I imagine she'll notice if I'm not there working away on my next publication." Von Eisen chuckled. As Hans headed towards the door, he counted his steps. _One. Two…_

"Sir."

The Chancellor raised his brows and peered over the brandy glass as the younger man turned back. With a tone that suggested it was an afterthought, Hans added: "You have a cousin, as I recall, on your father's side? Recently widowed?"

"You are referring to the Lady Schönhausen, I presume."

"If you are looking to make allies in the Southern Isles," said the prince calmly, "My brother is, as yet, unmarried." The Chancellor's eyes widened just a fraction. "With the war behind him, I believe he may be amenable to creating ties with the League—especially with our siblings returning home in less than two years."

It did not take the empire-builder two swirls of a brandy to figure out what the prince was getting at. "An interesting suggestion. I shall keep it in mind."

"Sir."

"_Himmelenvelsignet."_

The Chancellor gave a polite nod of his head which counted, for him, as a bow. The scarlet light of the flames crackled between them, safely contained in the hearth, and Hans realized it was the first time in a long while that he had heard anyone save Elsa acknowledge the true origins of their power—divine might, not mere magic and trinketry. He thought back to the moment of watching von Eisen dangle the hint of train-tables and telegrams before the Francian ambasador, and how he had assumed the man had been merely taking a risk for the fun of it. _I even thought of it as "playing with fire." What a fool I was. _He had known the Chancellor was testing him even then, though all this time he had never thought to ask why. _He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly what we were capable of—what I was capable of._

_And he knew at what price I'd shown I could be bought._

Hans returned the bow, and left.

* * *

"Destablizing Agnar's position wasn't merely a side-effect, it was one of the goals."

Elsa watched him as he stared down at the pattern on the wood tile, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The bedroom was dark, the fire in the corner letting off only marginal red light from the coals.

"He wanted to unify the duchies, of course, but he also wanted me—I don't know precisely why, but I can pretty well imagine. He needed to keep me out of the war on both sides, and by George he did it."

"It could have been either of us."

"No. He knew you couldn't be bribed." The unspoken half of that statement hung in the air, and she bit her lip, her blue eyes watching his gravely. "I read the casualty reports. Nine hundred and six men dead, another five-hundred odd wounded."

"A fraction of what it could have been," she said quietly. He didn't answer. "Hans, this wasn't your fault."

At last her husband looked over. The dim firelight danced off the green in his eyes. "He thought he knew what kind of man I am, Elsa."

"He was wrong." She took his hand into hers and met his eyes firmly. The prince-consort pursed his lips, and then some of the tension drained out of his face as he nodded.

"Yes. He was."

"It's over and done with, now." She sighed, running her thumb over his knuckles. "But it's revealed a chink in our armor. For as long as you remain prince-consort, you appear vulnerable to outside influences."

He nodded. "I know you were hoping to wait a few more years before doing this, but all considered…"

"We've already rushed the marriage," she agreed. "We may as well go the full measure."

They locked gazes, each daring the other to speak first.

"Ask me," Elsa said softly.

The prince shook his head. "I made you a promise."

"Ask."

"No."

And the queen smiled.

* * *

The _scritch-scritch _of the quill as the Kaiser signed the paper seemed to fill the silent room. Around the table the dignitaries, counsellors and representatives stood silently. Admiral Lund sat at the Southern king's back, while on the opposite side of the table the Chancellor looked on, with an expression of perfectly tranquil interest. The Arendellians stood along the long edge of the table, beside the League's ambassadors from Dun Broch and Francia, as witnesses to the treaty.

The camera flashed like an abrupt sunburst, and Agnar blinked, startled. The paper was slid across to him, a gloved hand guiding it, and when he looked up he saw his brother's eyes looking back—green and direct, like Agnar's own, like their mother's.

The king took up his pen, and then stopped. The dignitaries were watching him intently. He stared down at the paper, and then swallowed the bitter bile and, biting the inside of his cheek, signed his name in the Old Tongue, as the law demanded. The photographer's magnesium flashed again. He set down the pen, with a quiet and final _clack_ that nonetheless sounded throughout the room.

The Arendellian Queen, acting as the lawspeaker, recited the terms of agreement in the Old Tongue and then again in Germanic, and both kings stood. They shook hands, and then, per custom, took back up their swords from the table. With that, the independence of the duchies of Schwarzenbek and Ratzeburg and subsequent integration into the Northern League was complete.

"…Well then." The company turned to the Ambassador, who was smiling at them all warmly, hands clasped; immediately the atmosphere in the room grew a little more congenial. "With that finished, my sister and I would like to welcome you all properly to Arendelle. I believe the Queen has an announcement…"

"In honor of this agreement, restoring peace to Scandinavia and the Germanic lands," said the Queen courteously, "and in a spirit of friendship and mutual understanding, Arendelle would like to personally extend to you the first word of, and invitations to, the coronation of His Royal Highness Prince Johannes, two months hence on the first of July."

There was a stir of murmurs around the room; the _Herald_ editor took out his notebook and began to write. "Through Corona, the League has become Arendelle's ally, as are the Southern Isles," Hans said clearly. "We look forward to continuing to develop our relationships with you both. And it is, of course, my great honor to accept her Majesty's offer to serve Arendelle now more devotedly." He met his brother's eyes. "Today, and with the rest of my life."

_So, he told you, did he, brother? _Agnar held his brother's gaze. _He told you about the muttering in our streets, how the people clamor for a new king. _Hans's eyes flickered away as he gave the gathered company a warm smile. _He made you an offer. And you turned him down._

"We've had the castle staff prepare some refreshments for you all," said Princess Anna cheerily. "Please, enjoy yourselves."

The diplomats dispersed into various groups as the servants brought in refreshments of light drink and Arendellian pastries. Agnar watched carefully as Chancellor von Eisen made his way around the room, pausing a few minutes to speak with the Kaiser and with the Queen. At last, he made his way over to the Southern king.

"Your Majesty. I do not believe we have had the pleasure of meeting before."

"I do not believe so, _Herr_ Chancellor." They shook hands. "So," said the king, taking a drink from his glass. It was, after all, a Sunday. "The Queen is making my brother a king."

"The thirteenth son of a royal family. I suppose men of lower standing have risen to greater heights."

Agnar glanced to the statesman out of the corner of his eye. "Indeed."

"It has always interested me how the currents of politics can make or break an individual's fortune," von Eisen continued. "The tide seems to just pick some people up and carry them along, far beyond their natural stations."

"And my brother is just such a man, I suppose."

"Your brother," said the Chancellor thoughtfully, "is a sailor. He knows how to read the tides. He understands them."

"Did you ever serve in the navy, Sir?" said Agnar abruptly, irritated. The Chancellor chuckled.

"No. But I have always admired those who did. I know their stories well."

"Then you are like my brother in at least one way. He likes his stories."

Von Eisen laughed. "Yes, he does." He turned to face the king. "I have something of a fondness for tales of rags-to-riches myself, you know."

"Do you."

"Yes, I suppose I rather empathize with those darling young heroines. Though I wouldn't say I came from modest means myself, I had an ancestor, the Duchess of Schönhausen—who, by proving her loyal love, and political indispensability, to her feudal lord became Princess of Eisen upon their marriage. Her story has always…inspired me."

"I can imagine." The Chancellor was watching him carefully. "You are the current Duke of Schönhausen, aren't you?"

"Yes—but I've made the legal heir to that title my cousin, the Lady Schönhausen. My children will inherit Eisen, of course."

"The Lady is a widow, I believe. With an eight-year-old son."

"Indeed."

By this point, Agnar had noticed the ambassadors from Dun Broch and Francia listening nearby; the former in particular was watching the conversation attentively. The king set his drink down, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks; he had rarely felt so humiliated, and that was saying something. "How long, may I ask, until her Ladyship's period of mourning is complete?"

"Two months. As it happens, I intend to ask the Kaiser to send her to Arendelle as our representative around that time—for the coronation."

And all that was left was to get down on his knees and beg like the desperate man he was. "I would be very much interested in meeting her."

"It would be my pleasure to deliver a message to her, if you would like, your Majesty."

"Yes…thank you. I will have the letter written before your departure."

The Chancellor inclined his head. "If you'll excuse me, your Majesty, I need a word with the Kaiser. Do forgive me."

"Of course." He watched the statesman walk away. And just like that, Agnar thought, with the help of cleverer, more powerful men, his position was secured. It was a bitter gall to swallow.

"Your Majesty."

He looked over. The Dun Brochish ambassador bowed stiffly.

"I was wondering if I might trouble you for a word in private?"

"I suppose…"

They drew aside towards the wall. The ambassador, Agnar noted, was the sort of man so stiff and gray that he vanished into the wallpaper of any conference room, save for the bright emerald tartan sash and gold brooch featuring the sword-and-two-bears emblem of the Empire. Agnar found himself distracted by the pin's intricate knotwork, before he cleared his throat and returned to earth. "What is this concerning, Ambassador?"

"Respectfully, your Majesty, the international powers could not help but notice that the Southern Isles have undertaken a new plan of modernization. Dun Broch has been paying especial attention."

"Have they," Agnar said uncertainly. He couldn't tell if the stiff-faced, stiff-mustached man was in earnest or not.

"Yes. Of course, Dun Broch would be most pleased to see another nation enter fully into the new era, particularly the Southern Isles; such advancements would be greatly beneficial to all parties on the North Sea. We would be most eager to support the process—perhaps with some renegotiations of our current contracts of trade?"

_Well, that was swift. _Agnar glanced over his shoulder. The Francian ambassador was pouring himself another flute of champagne and attempting to flirt, unsuccessfully, with Princess Louisa-Rose, while the Arendellian princess leapt to her rescue. "What did you have in mind?"

On the other side of the room, the queen leaned in towards her sister as Anna returned from saving the Teutonian princess, watching the milling diplomats. "Where's Kristoff? I thought he said he was going to be here."

"Something came up," Anna whispered. "It seemed serious; he said to tell you he'd be over as soon as he could."

"More serious than this?"

The princess shrugged. "He had his 'ambassador face' on. The one where he gets that little crinkle over his nose?"

"I'll have to take your word for it." She raised her head. "Ah. Speak of the devil."

Kristoff had appeared in the doorway, dressed in his full ambassadorial gákti and sash for the occasion. He made a few polite bows and nods on his way over, but Elsa noted that Anna had been right—the man's face was serious. "Elsa," he said in an undertone as he approached, glancing around. "Sorry I'm late."

"Anna said it was something serious?"

"Um– yeah. Yeah, pretty serious." He took a deep breath. "Actually, could we have a word? In private?"

"Now?"

"As soon as you have a chance."

She studied the look on his face, and then handed her empty champagne glass to Anna. "Make my excuses for me if someone asks."

"Will do," the princess said curiously, glancing between her sister and husband. Elsa patted her arm.

"We'll tell you everything later."

She followed Kristoff out of the room and down the hall to the library, shutting the door behind her. She noted in surprise that the prince locked it and made a check of the room. "Kristoff? Are you alright?"

"Um– okay, Elsa, I know this is terrible timing, but…" He pulled a letter out from the inside of his coat and passed it to her. She scanned the contents, and then sat down slowly into her desk chair. Kristoff nodded nervously.

She looked up. "Are you serious?"

"Just came in. Gotta say, the messenger took it as a pretty good sign that he saw me in this." He plucked at a button on his coat.

Elsa frowned as she looked at the bottom of the letter. "What are these, these two lists here?"

"The names on the left are the villages who want to join with Arendelle; those on the right are those who want to remain independent but are asking for your help."

"The ones who want to join aren't all contiguous…"

"I know." He took a deep breath and sat down in the opposite chair. "Their complaint is justified, though. I've been watching the situation for a while. Nearly all of the tribes have been seeing incursions on their traditional territories by Ruthinian and even some Fendish settlements."

"Beyond the national borders?" Kristoff nodded. "Why are the settlements moving north?"

"Farmland. A lot of the territory up north isn't arable, but some of the land further south can be farmed. Some of it _is_ being farmed, actually; these here…" He pointed to several villages on the lists, "...are permanent towns."

"And what are they asking, specifically?"

"Like I said, some of them want to join Arendelle, make an official claim on the land. Others are asking you to send soldiers to defend their sovereignty as small kingdoms."

Elsa frowned at the letter. "And what do you think I should do?"

She heard him draw a deep breath. "You know what I think." She nodded. "But I won't pretend it won't cost you. Making a claim to the northern lands would bring trouble. It'd definitely be disputed by Ruthinia and Fendoland, and possibly the Eastern Mountains too…"

"Especially since much of it would block their territory from the northern seaboard." He nodded. "And I can't maintain a defensible border against the other Scandinavian powers if the land officially considered Arendelle is scattered in non-contiguous chunks. But…" She bit her lip, thinking. "With the council's permission, I'm open to incorporating any of the contiguous villages who want to join and marking off the land as an official province. In fact, I would probably make it a duchy under your and Anna's family…"

"What about the rest of them?"

"Kristoff, you know our treasury reserves are low. There's only so much we can do. Besides, not all of the tribes have permanent boundaries; I can't defend an unspecified territory. The other Scandinavian powers would accuse me of land-grabbing."

"But it's _their_ land, Elsa. They've used it since—forever, I guess, and they need it for their livelihood. Nobody else has ever laid claim to it until now. It belongs to them." He held her gaze. "It's the right thing to do."

There was a long silence as the queen mulled it over. Then she sighed.

"Send representatives to each of the tribes and have them plot out exactly what land belongs to them. I'll need that at the very least to morally justify my case. Whether the rest of Europe will recognize it is a different matter."

His eyes lit up. "So you'll do it?"

"It will depend on what we can afford. To make it sustainable the independent tribes will probably have to pay some form of recompense; otherwise I don't know how we'd support the military activity in their territories."

"That sounds a lot like taxes," he pointed out. Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose. "You know, the sort of thing you'd pay if you were already part of a kingdom?"

"Yes, well," she said bitterly, "empires are easier to defend than small kingdoms." She caught his expression and sighed again. "I'll do what I can, Kristoff. If you could convince the rest of the northern tribes to become officially part of Arendelle that would be a different matter."

"Just so you understand what you're asking me to do," he said, "you're asking me to tell them to give up their independence, pay you tribute, or risk losing their homes."

"I don't like it any more than you do."

After a long silence, he stood and bowed stiffly. "I'll go draw up a list of representatives."

"Thank you."

He left, and she rubbed her temples, staring down at the letter. At last, she put the paper in her desk drawer, left the library and locked the door behind her.

"Hey," Anna said as she returned to the conference room. The rest of the attendees seemed to be enjoying themselves more; champagne was flowing more freely, and the tell-tale signs of hobnobbing and deal-making were developing around the room. "Everything okay? Kristoff didn't come back."

"I'll explain everything later. We're–"

"A toast!" The room fell silent as the Iron Chancellor raised his flute of champagne. "A toast," he repeated, turning to King Agnar, who was eyeing him with an expression that told Elsa her husband's plan had succeeded. "To new beginnings—and to peace."

"To peace," everyone agreed. The queen raised her glass.

"To peace," she echoed a half-second late, and, ever so briefly, she thought she saw the Chancellor glance her way.

* * *

**A/N: Hello all my wonderful readers!**

**I'm writing to you from the, ah, "comfort" of my apartment, bringing you this chapter today to help us all cope with the social distancing. :) There will be one more chapter after this; hopefully I'll have it up within a week or so.**

**On this wonderful St. Patrick's Day, I'd like to encourage all of my fellow Catholics and anyone else celebrating the holiday to please, _stay home!_ It's essential that those of us who can social distance do so during this critical time, in order to "flatten the curve." Flattening the curve means spreading out the number of infections overtime, to keep it below the level which the health care system can handle, rather than spiking the number of infections above the bed capacity of hospitals—thereby possibly leaving gravely sick people without care.**** In honor of St. Patrick, and for the good of the sick and the elderly, let's stay in tonight and toast the holiday from our own homes.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Disney, Frozen, the Disney universe nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.**

**All the modern-English translations of **_**Beowulf**_** come from Seamus Heaney's translation; the quotes from Otto von Bismarck in the coronation scene are from his **_**Iron and Blood **_**address; and the lyrics of the hymn are the masculinized English version of the **_**Heimr Àrnadalr.**_

**Music for the chapter:**

_**For the coronation: **_**www. youtube. com [slash] watch?v=3AGhN4GCwKE**

_**For the ball:**_ **https: [double slash] youtu. be[slash] xY0GEpbWreY**** (people noises); ****www. youtube. com [slash] playlist?list=PLsiEF5zINRD1zs4JspH6-I-bjKlkNz03d**** (music).**

* * *

The coronation of King Johannes Andreas of the Royal House of Arendelle took place two months to the day after the declaration of the League victory and the annexation of Schwarzenbek and Ratzeburg into the Northern League, on the first of July, 1864. It was the heart of summer, and the wildflowers and the hanging garlands on the balconies were in full bloom.

The queen awoke early to find the bed beside her cool and empty; dim gray light from the pre-dawn drifted in through the window, and she arose and dressed in the near-dark in a gown of her own creation. A few servants greeted her in the halls, but otherwise the castle was still asleep despite its many guests.

She found her husband in the library, dressed in the same deep blue naval uniform as was worn by the king in the portrait above him, his white-gloved hand resting on the table. The queen watched him respectfully in silence for a minute or so before she spoke:

"You look like him, dressed like that."

Hans turned, the Order of the Crocus cross gleaming a dull gray-gold on his breast. "High compliment."

She approached him silently and stood beside him, both looking up into the portrait.

"You know, Eugene said something interesting about you last time we spoke."

"Did he…"

"He said men like you come along maybe twice in a generation. Men who can build an empire with their own two hands."

Hans was quiet a beat at that, and then said, "Well. Thank goodness we're such a rarity."

"Then you agree with him?"

"I don't know. I don't intend to find out."

She nodded. Another pause passed, and then her husband said pensively, "You know, at the christening ball I ended up talking to the Chancellor. He was the one who gave me the book of fairy tales."

"I guessed as much, but I don't quite understand why."

"It was a gift. In gratitude for my stories; he said his son likes them." But she could see in his eyes that he wasn't thinking about his own works. "We ended up discussing _Briar Rose."_

"Their founding _märchen."_

"Yes. I told him I knew it; he had a…particularly interesting interpretation of it." He tilted his head. "But, Teutonia isn't the only kingdom with a founding story."

"I imagine he knows the Isles'," said the queen with irony. "It's quite famous, after all."

"_Him þæt tō mearce wearð,"_ the prince quoted, in a deep and melodic voice that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine; it seemed to come from a different age, a better age—though she knew, with the same reason that warned against the temptations of empire, that the mythic ages had been no less wicked than the present._"Hē þǣr for feorme feorh-wunde hlēat, sweordes swengum, sunu Hygelāces; ond him eft gewāt Ongenðīoes bearn hāmes nīosan, syððan Heardrēd læg, lēt ðone brego-stōl Bīowulf healdan, Gēatum wealdan."_

_"Þæt,"_ she finished, _"wæs gōd cyning."_

Hans nodded distantly. "Yes," he agreed. "That was a good king." His expression was thoughtful. "And from that good king's most loyal retainer came my family." He turned to her. "Elsa, I've been thinking."

"So have I."

"Arendelle needs to modernize."

"I know. I've been reviewing the budget; we need to raise money for telegraph lines, and a sizeable donation set aside for the _Herald–"_

"That's not what I meant." She tilted her head. "It needs to _modernize. _The world is changing. We're still young, but we won't always be—and your parents died young. My mother did, too." He turned back to the portrait. "I've no doubt your sister and Kristoff would make excellent rulers, but we can't leave Arendelle's fate up to chance. The kingdom we leave behind must be able to survive without us."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying being a good king isn't enough—not for Arendelle. _'So this bad blood between us and the northmen, this vicious feud, I am convinced, is bound to revive; they will cross our borders and attack in force when they find out that Beowulf is dead.'"_ She recognized the meaning of the quote but said nothing, seeing he'd retreated again into his own thoughts. "Fairy tales teach us things," he murmured, and nodded as if to reassure himself. "It's up to us to learn from them."

She took his hand, and they looked upon the portrait of the late king together for a long while, until at last the silence was broken:

"Do you think we're ready?"

Their eyes met, green to blue, in the pale dawn light.

* * *

In the vestibule of the chapel, a young man of twenty-six waited for the ceremony to begin. The violet cape around his shoulders felt almost too warm for the weather, and the prince plucked at it, nervous. He looked around the empty narthex; unlike on his wedding night, he had been left here alone, as tradition obliged the royal family to meet him at the front of the chapel. Anna and Kristoff had wished him luck, in their own distinct ways, and the queen had given him a few words of encouragement:

_"You'll be alright, just breathe and try to stay calm. Don't forget to take off the gloves before you pick up the scepter and orb."_

_ "Elsa–"_

_ "I'll be right there with you" _And then she'd kissed his cheek and whispered so that the others could not hear his true fear: _"You're going to make a good king."_

And then she and the others had left him, the doors swinging softly shut behind them, and he was alone.

Hans stood silently now, leaning against the railing of the staircase up into the choir loft and staring at the embroidered crocus on the long cape, sweeping out in front of him from when he'd turned. So, she thought he'd be a good king, did she? He wasn't sure he had her confidence. He had tried to take this by force, once. Could a man like that ever truly be a _gōd cyning?_ And as he'd told Elsa that morning, he had, at last, come to the realization that even being a good ruler was not enough—not for Arendelle, not for the new era. His boyhood dream had been too small, too petty. _To be a good king…_Perhaps that meant creating a kingdom that, in the end, could survive the man who wore the crown.

Hans knew himself as a man who needed to be _needed. _To foster an Arendelle that would eventually outgrow him…_that_ would be the greatest challenge of all.

His head rose as he heard the choir in the chapel begin to harmonize. It was time. He straightened up, and felt his heart pounding. He had worked so hard to get here—had failed so often. The moment was before him, and, just outside of that moment, he felt a sudden and terrifying surge of unworthiness, and fear.

He was grateful for it.

In one swift motion he took off the gloves and set them on the railing. He turned to face the doors, steeling his nerve, steeling his conscience. He felt sparks burning just under his fingertips, longings and desires, and the realization that there was now no wickedness in fulfilling them.

He raised his head, and the doors opened.

"Verðug konungr stór…"

"_Worthy King of Greatness; the Heart of gold shines."_

The crowd of foreign dignitaries and citizens in their pews turned to watch as the prince paced forward in stately time, through the falling shafts of sunlight from the stained glass.

"_For fifty years I ruled this nation. No king of any neighbouring clan would dare face me with troops, none had the power to intimidate me."_

"_We are too hot-blooded; we have a preference for putting on armor that is too big for our small body; and now we're actually supposed to utilize it."_

"_We crown Thee with hope, love, and faith."_

The queen and her family stood straight and tall, preparing to receive him properly, as one of their own. Her face was etched in a visage of gravity; she bore in her hands the weight of his crown, symbol of her assent to the bestowing of power which had been dispensed likewise upon her.

"_I took what came, cared for and stood by things in my keeping…"_

"_The position of Prussia in Germany will not be determined by its liberalism, but by its power. __Bavaria, Württemberg, Baden may indulge liberalism, and yet no one will assign them Prussia's role.__"_

"_Beautiful, stony land; Home Árnadalr."_

As all of Arendelle held its breath to witness the act of creation, and the international dignitaries trained their eyes upon the conferral of power, another man sat, far away in a quiet square office, and watched the world move below his window.

"_Never fomented quarrels, never swore to a lie…"_

"_Prussia must concentrate its strength and hold it for the favorable moment, which has already come and gone several times."_

"_Follow the King of Light; follow the worthy King of Greatness."_

The man, who was only a man, bowed his head in the sunlight, and the gold of the newly-smithed crown was delivered from the queen's hands into the bishop's, and then, with a shock at its reality in the man's heart, upon his head.

"_All of this consoles me, doomed as I am and sickening for death…"_

"_Since the treaties of Vienna, our frontiers have been ill-designed for a healthy body politic."_

"_Follow the King of Light."_

The new king raised his head; the photographer's magnesium flashed, and the moment was preserved for all history—the date marked, to be followed in the pages of history books what sort of king he was, and how he and the queen had lived, their reign and issue, and how the kingdom failed or prospered in their time.

"_Because of my right ways…"_

"_Not through speeches and majority decisions will the great questions of the day be decided—"_

"_As he holds the holy properties…"_

The scepter and the orb were taken up, the king weighing, as he turned to face his people, the balance of authority in one hand, and sacred responsibility in the other.

"_...the Ruler of Mankind need never blame me, when the breath leaves my body…"_

"—_That was the mistake of 1848 and 1849—"_

"_And is crowned in this holy place…"_

The people rose in a surge.

"_...For murder of kinsmen."_

"—_But by iron and blood."_

"I present to you…"

* * *

"Excuse me, your Majesty, but I am simply compelled by your beauty to request this dance."

His wife gave him a warm, albeit half-exasperated, smile. "See, now _that_ is how you should have asked."

"Are you saying I had a chance?"

"Oh, no, definitely not; I was turning down everyone."

The new king touched a hand to his heart with an expression of faux-sorrow. "My queen, you wound me." He grinned as Elsa laughed and extended his hand. "Don't, not can't?"

She giggled, swept into a curtsy and accepted. A moment later she let out a gasp of surprise as she was twirled out into the heart of the ballroom and into the midst of the dancing dignitaries, frost swirling across the hardwood in time to the hardanger fiddles. He laughed and took her again by the waist as her hand found his shoulder.

"It's a lovely party, isn't it?" she said, looking around with pleasure. "Anna was in charge of the whole thing. I think she was determined to make amends for…last time."

"She really is _quite_ the diplomat, isn't she?" Elsa smiled and inclined her head off to the side of the ballroom, and Hans followed her gaze to see the princess and her husband engaging in small-talk with a certain League representative. "Ah. The Lady Schönhausen, I see. Perhaps we should go over and make our introductions?"

"In a minute," his queen said, and then with a lower tone and a mischievous sparkle in her eyes: "You deserve to enjoy yourself."

"Oh, I am. Very much so. By the way," he nodded to her gown as he twirled her, "I've always liked this dress on you." For the occasion the queen had donned an ice-crystal replica of the very gown she'd worn for her own coronation, though now in midnight blue and sapphire, with white frost rosmåling in place of embroidery.

"Do you?" She took his hand again. "Anna always said it was a bit too conservative."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Anna used the word 'conservative?'"

"Well. She said it belonged in a nunnery."

He laughed. "My queen, I beg of you, never do me or the world the disservice of joining the cloister. Your fine wit alone, to say nothing of your beauty, are a bright flame without which we would all be quite in the dark."

Her mouth dropped open, and then she laughed. "Now which book did you get that out of?"

"Excuse you, I came up with that myself." She chuckled, and he twirled her again, before leaning in close to whisper in her ear: "Besides, you look lovely in blue."

On the other side of the ballroom, Princess Anna bade farewell to the Teutonian representative and was watching the pair in approval when she heard someone clear his throat and looked over. Her husband grinned at her and bowed as best as he could with the drinks in his hands. "Ambasador."

Anna giggled and curtsied. "Ambassador." Kristoff straightened up and handed her the glass he'd been carrying. "Ooh, lemonade. Thanks, I'm parched."

"I always forget how _hot_ it gets in here during balls." He tugged at the wool collar of his ambassadorial tunic. "By the way, I talked to the grooms; the sleigh is all packed up. We'll be good to leave in a few days."

"It's weird," she commented frankly. "'Duchess' just sounds so…_old. _Not sure I like it."

"Aw c'mon, you'd be a cute little old lady." Anna giggled. "White hair and glasses–"

"Ooh, no," she shuddered, "I've seen myself with white hair. It's not a good look." Her husband suddenly sobered at the reminder, and she waved him off. "I'm fine. Speaking of leaving, have you heard anything from the garrison?"

"Got a letter yesterday; they say the manor house is ready for us to move in and they've started building extra barracks. And they've been seeing some of the young village men and even some of the women coming to enlist." Anna whistled. "I think Elsa will be able to pacify the Eastern Mountains, but Ruthinia is probably not going down without a fight."

"Have you heard back from Sáppa?"

Kristoff nodded. "His letter came in on the same cart. He said Risten and Joná have decided to sign—I mean, it wasn't exactly a hard sell, seeing as they know us personally. That'll make the three neighboring villages contiguous with our borders."

"That's good!" Anna exclaimed. Kristoff didn't answer. "And the rest of the villages?"

"Most of them have agreed to sign, though from what I hear it's more out of necessity—they'd prefer not to unify but they know there's not much of a choice. There's still a few holdouts to the northeast, but my guys tell me they think they can persuade them."

He took a drink from his champagne, and Anna noted the brooding expression on his face. "How are you doing?" she asked gently, her good humor softening.

"Well, Elsa was right. Empires are easier to defend than small kingdoms." He bit his tongue. "But I'm not going to say it doesn't make me feel like…I don't know, like I'm selling out. 'Collaborating with imperialism,' or something."

"This isn't the same thing," said Anna quietly. "My ancestors conquered the Northern March for their own gain; these villages are joining with us willingly."

"Only because they're between a rock and a hard place, and we're the least-bad option." Kristoff sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking around at his fellow dignitaries in their fine dresses and sparkling fringed epaulettes. "To be honest, Anna? What's getting to me is knowing I'm the one who stands to profit off this. I convince them to give up their independence, and get a duchy out of the deal? That's not a great look."

"Doing what's right is easy when it makes you look like a hero," his wife said frankly. "Not so much when it makes you look like an opportunist." She squeezed his hand. "But that's what being a ruler means. Sometimes you have to make the right choice even when it's unpopular."

Her husband nodded again, looking pensive. "Yeah. I just– I don't know, I guess I never thought I'd find myself sympathizing with–" But he cut himself off abruptly as something in the hall caught his attention. "Oh, for cryin' out loud."

"What?" He glanced meaningfully to a group of stuffy-looking foreign dignitaries not far off, and Anna caught their glances of disapproval. "Oh," she said, surprised. "Kristoff, really, I don't care what they think–"

"Well _I _care. Just because _they've_ got some problem with seeing pregnant women in public–"

Anna's eyes suddenly lit up with mischief. "You know what I bet would _really_ scandalize them?" Kristoff raised his brows in question, and she set her glass down on a nearby table and offered her hand. The prince grinned and led her out onto the floor for the next dance.

Not far off, the representatives from Corona had stepped aside themselves for a break and some refreshments, and Rapunzel beamed as her cousin and in-law gave their proper bows and curtsies to the departing king and queen, and then took their places in the circle. Anna and Kristoff began to twirl and pace in time to a traditional Arendellian folk dance, and Eugene chortled. "Ha! The _Sphére_ is gonna have something to say about that!"

"They'll probably call it 'folksy,'" Rapunzel said, rolling her eyes with a fond smile as her cousin twirled, dress swirling. "But I wrote to Dr. Appia and he says all that stuff about pregnant women having to stay indoors for the last three months is nonsense."

"Speaking of, weren't you going to talk to the doctor about Scarlet Cross stuff while you were here?"

Rapunzel gasped and set down her drink. "I almost forgot! Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back!" She kissed his cheek and hurried away.

"Bring me back some punch!" Eugene called after, but wasn't sure she heard as she vanished into the crowd. Momentarily left alone, he made a survey of the ballroom. The new king and his queen were receiving congratulations from well-wishers, and various diplomats were milling around, enjoying the party or attempting to strike deals over the facilitating effects of good alcohol. He caught sight of the King of the Southern Isles standing off to the side of the room, similarly observing events with a glass of champagne in his hand, and was momentarily surprised, knowing that it was generally considered inappropriate for a king to attend another new monarch's coronation. His curiosity was interrupted, however, by the approach of a familiar presence out of the crowd.

"Prince Eugene." The general inclined his head, and the prince did the same.

"General von Helm. I wasn't expecting to see you here." Eugene couldn't help but be wary; he'd known Teutonia would be sending several representatives, but he hadn't expected one of them to be the general.

"As it happens, I requested the assignment."

"Oh." The Coronian cast an uncertain glance at the Arendellian king and queen. "I'm uh, guessing you didn't come for the kransekake?"

"As a matter of fact, Prince Eugene, it was because I wished to speak with you."

"With me?" His eyes swiveled back to the general. "Why?"

"Cölln-Bärlin would like to extend an invitation for you to visit again at the beginning of next month."

"Next month?" Jeez, hadn't he spent enough time away from home? Then the more important meaning hit him: "Wait, Cölln-Bärlin wants _me?_ Why me?"

"You served the League well and aptly in the battles for Flusstadt and Schwarzenbek," the general said frankly. "Clearly you have tactical talents which the League would be remiss to waste."

_Remiss to waste? What does that mean? _"Sorry, sir, but I'm afraid I don't follow. The war's over…"

"This war," von Helm said calmly. Eugene eyed him with uncertainty. "Prince Eugene, have you ever heard of Philopoemen?"

"Uh– no, sir, I can't say I have."

"He was the _strategos_ of the ancient Achaean League. Machiavelli writes of him as a great general, who in peacetime nevertheless thought of nothing but how a particular enemy might take advantage of a certain plot of terrain, and how the Achaeans could meet them."

"Sounds like a man to take inspiration from," Eugene remarked. If the General appreciated the joke, he didn't show it.

"Indeed. Prince Eugene, I am arranging a general staff for peacetime, who will be meeting in Cölln-Bärlin on the first of each month to draft plans for potential future conflicts. I would like you to be on that staff."

Eugene struggled to speak for a moment, before he managed an uncomfortable laugh. "Listen, I'm flattered, but I don't know much about– you know, running battles and–"

"No. But you know a great deal about risk and reward." The prince stared. "Consider the matter. Cölln-Bärlin would be grateful for your presence."

_"…Danke schoen,_ sir."

The general turned to leave, and then paused and turned back. "Prince Eugene. You should know: you have my personal gratitude as well."

"Sir?"

"I was born in Schwarzenbek. My mother still lives there." And in the Roman-bust face, Eugene thought he saw something just a little bit alive. "Whatever tongue the dukes may have spoken, the common people always said our prayers in Germanic." The prince was struck dumb, and the general gave a cool inclination of his head. "In gratitude for Corona's service, Cölln-Bärlin will be allocating to her Heligoland and the rest of the North Frisian Islands."

"…Corona is grateful and honored, sir."

"I will convey as much to the Chancellor. Your Highness."

"General."

And with that von Helm was gone, vanishing into the crowd. Eugene stared after him, a bit dazed.

"Hey." He turned. Rapunzel was beaming at him, holding out a glass of punch. He accepted it, brow still pinched, and she frowned. "You okay? Did something happen?"

"I– yeah." He looked back at the spot where the general had disappeared. "Yeah, I'm fine." He paused. "I think Corona just got bigger."

"What do you mean?"

Up near the throne dais, the king and queen had just finished receiving their last well-wisher. "You know," Hans said conversationally, scanning the ballroom, "not one of my brothers has congratulated me."

"Agnar did right after the ceremony," Elsa pointed out. "The _Herald_ got a picture of it."

"I meant the rest of them." But he was smirking. "And after you were so _generous _as to invite them. Do you think I should go say hello?"

"Hans, really, don't ruin this for yourself by antagonizing them."

He glanced at her and softened. "You're right. I don't need their approval." He nodded to the other king across the ballroom, who was standing more or less alone. "I think I should go talk to Agnar, though. He looks like he could use some company."

She squeezed his hand, and he marveled at that—five years ago, the small act of affection would have been impossible for both of them. "Go on, then."

"My queen." He turned and swept his wife's hand up to his lips, and relished in her blush. "I won't be long."

Elsa watched him go, still pink in the cheeks, and was so lost in her daze that she jumped when a heavily-accented voice said in Germanic: "Your Majesty."

"I– oh!" She blushed darker at seeing the ice crystalizing over the shoes of the foreign princess, and bowed. "Sultana Masoumeh. My apologies, I didn't mean–"

"It is quite alright." The Levantine princess had donned a dazzling peacock-green and sunset-violet clasp-gown and veil, which glittered with small crystals like stars. "I had hoped to congratulate His Majesty on his coronation, but it appears he has vanished?"

"Yes, he went to talk to his brother."

"Ah, then it is my misfortune. I will have to do so later. Though perhaps we may talk, the two of us?" She saw the queen's hesitance, and added: "It always seems to me a relief, to discuss pleasant matters after such heady political troubles."

_Ah. So she doesn't want to talk politics, then. _"Yes, I quite agree. Speaking of pleasure, I wanted to thank you for your lovely gift," Elsa added. "The _Commentary_ has proved…quite useful."

The sultana bowed her head. "We had hoped you would find it valuable in your studies." Her dark eyes glittered as she rose with a smile. "Philosopher-queen."

Elsa blinked, surprised, and then smiled back. "You flatter me."

"It is a princess's work to make friends of all and enemies of none, your Majesty." Her smile grew slightly sad at that. "We had hoped Arendelle would be just such a friend in troubled times."

_So she knows. _Elsa felt struck by a pang of sympathy for the fellow-royal; she and Hans had discussed on many occasions the declining fortunes of the Levantine empire in the wake of the birth of industry and the spreading flames of revolution. _She knows that it's futile. And with the statement we made in the Herald, she's given up on getting any help from us._

"I cannot speak for Arendelle," she said softly so that no one else could hear, and the sultana inclined her head, "but you have certainly found a friend in me. My husband is a philosopher in some respects, but I'm afraid his natural love of wisdom rather stops at the Just State." The Levantine woman chuckled. "It would be a pleasure to discuss the…things above, with someone."

"It would be my honor to start a correspondence, your Majesty."

"And of course," Elsa said firmly, "you are always welcome in Arendelle."

"Thank you." It was clear from the way the sultana's smile grew more rueful still that she had caught the implicit offer of refuge in exile. "I hope to be able to visit again under such pleasant circumstances."

Across the room, the new king approached the elder and held out a glass. "Don't tell me you're not drinking at a coronation ball," Hans scolded, "even if it is a Friday."

Agnar accepted the champagne. "I'm not insensible, Hans."

"Glad to hear it." He watched his brother take a sip and then added somewhat more seriously: "Thank you for coming. I know it's not traditional, but…"

"I would have looked quite the fool, turning down a personal invitation from the new King of Arendelle—especially after he's shown such favor to the Southern Isles." Hans smiled, and Agnar gave an ironic nod. "Additionally, considering the last Arendellian coronation, I didn't want to miss the excitement."

Hans laughed aloud at that. "Well, here's hoping I don't burn down the kingdom." Agnar "mm"ed at that. "Besides, I don't think I'd have much success trying to magic myself up a palace of flames. It _was_ helpful in lighting the chandeliers, though…"

"I imagine. Speaking of Southern representatives, I see you've invited our dear siblings to the occasion?"

"Well, it didn't feel _entirely_ fair to leave them out doing hard labor on the river while you and I got to drink champagne and dance with beautiful women. Though," he nodded across the room to the surly group, "I'm sure you've noticed we're missing a few faces."

"Yes; what a shame we couldn't all be together for this happy occasion," Agnar said dryly. Hans snorted into his glass. "I see Balthazar is absent."

"Ah, yes. Currently he's in a holding cell on charges of breaking the terms of his parole. To tell you the truth I rather think he did it on purpose so he wouldn't have to be here tonight."

"Hm. And Lief?"

"He's here." Hans nodded to a man standing in the corner speaking to a young Arendellian noblewoman, and Agnar looked surprised. "He's gained a bit of a backbone since last you saw him. In fact we're releasing him early on account of _good_ behavior."

"That could be problematic."

But Hans shook his head. "Keep him away from the aristocracy and you'll be fine. He has absolutely no desire whatsoever of being king."

"I see. And where is Karl? Or has he gotten himself mixed up in his own version of 'bad behavior?'" Agnar wondered, recalling the several dependency-support funds the crown's coffers were currently paying back in the Isles.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Hans smirked. "Our profligate brother has apparently discovered a calling to the monastic cell."

Agnar choked on his drink and coughed violently. "What?"

"Of course, in my humble and impious opinion, I think the main attraction was getting away from the ice floes." The King of the Isles nodded and coughed again. "And I see Gunnar couldn't make it."

"He was, unfortunately, too busy."

Hans snorted and rolled his eyes. "I suppose he's been behaving?"

"He and the rest of the military. Ever since you let it slip to the _Budbringer _that I've been courting the cousin of the Iron Chancellor, things have rather calmed down."

"Excellent," Hans said, visibly relieved. "By the way, I've just met your bride-to-be; she's a lovely woman."

"I'm sure," Agnar said, his mood falling by degrees.

Hans blinked. "You mean you haven't met her yet?" Agnar took a sip from his drink. "Why on earth not? I thought you were planning to propose tonight."

"I am."

"But–"

"Hans, I'd rather not discuss the matter."

The King of Arendelle eyed his brother uncertainly, and then nodded. "Alright, we don't have to. As it happens…" He retrieved several folded-up pages from within his jacket pocket. "I've finished another manuscript. Is Bertram with you?"

"Look behind you." Hans glanced over his shoulder and saw his former jailer give him a nod, dressed in Southern diplomatic wear and hair slicked back.

"Bertram! My word, I didn't even recognize you!" They shook hands.

"That was the point, your Highness. May I see?" Hans handed over the manuscript, and the guard looked over it. _"The Nightingale. _What's it about?"

"Art and politics," Hans said vaguely. "Whenabouts do you think it'll be published?"

"I'll have my boy run it down to the _Budbringer _first thing when we arrive home, your Highness." The guard corrected himself. "Your Majesty."

"Bertram, if anyone has the right to call me by my Christian name, it's you," Hans said seriously. "And please, I want to give you and your family some repayment."

"I'm the personal guard of the king; that's a fine enough repayment by most men's standards."

"I meant something more substantial than that. I'm a king now, and goodness knows I wouldn't have lived to see this day without you. Name your reward; if I can grant it, I will."

"Your Majesty, my family has served the Westergaards for four generations," Bertram replied firmly. "To see honor and dignity returned to the throne of the Southern Isles is all the reward a royal guardsman could want."

Hans studied him for a moment, and then looked to the manuscript in the guard's hands, and gave a rueful chuckle. "Well. I suppose I can understand that." He pointed to the guard. "All the same, remember that if you ever want for anything, all you have to do is ask."

Bertram inclined his head with a smile. "I will bear it in mind, your Majesty." But Hans knew that the man who had shown him kindness without any prospect of reward would never ask for one. He resolved internally to ensure that the guardsman's children and grandchildren would never lack for anything. "Sire." Agnar raised an eyebrow. "May I be excused for the moment? I did promise my wife a dance."

"Ah yes. By all means, take the hour; Herman can manage on his own, I believe."

The disguised guardsman bowed and vanished into the crowd. A moment later, Hans saw him bowing and offering his hand to a well-dressed Hulda, who looked dazed and delighted to be at such an affair. He noticed out of the corner of his eye as another "undefined nobleman" sidled up behind them. "I see that Royal Intelligence has introduced a new position," he said quietly, behind his glass.

Agnar ignored this. "Art and politics. Are you trying to tell me something, Hans?"

The new king grinned. "Now brother, what would make you think that?" He saw Agnar's face and softened. "It's only a joke. But," he tilted his head thoughtfully, taking a drink from his champagne, "so long as we're discussing espionage–"

"I'm not sure how I feel about a foreign king having such intimate details about the inner workings of the Isles."

Hans shrugged. "So change it." Agnar rolled his eyes, indicating that this was easier said than done. "If you're going to spy on the people—and frankly, considering the current instability, I don't blame you—it might be worth taking their complaints, and _suggestions,_ into consideration. You don't have to be a populist to know that bad conditions create unrest, brother."

"I'm doing what I can, Hans. Real change is a slow process."

"I know." He hesitated, and then, with the wrenching feeling of finally swearing off a preferred vice, gave his brother a slightly pained smile. "The people will come around in time. The Isles…has a good king."

And Agnar knew what that had cost him. He gave a single, solemn nod. "Thank you."

"If you'll excuse me, I'm fairly certain my queen is looking for me." Hans gave him a meaningful nod towards the crowd. "And you ought to go find yours."

"I will in time." The younger king turned to leave, and suddenly Agnar spoke again: "Hans."

His brother looked back, the violet cape swept around behind him, the Arendellian crocus bright in the warm light. Agnar raised his glass. "Congratulations. Arendelle is, likewise, fortunate."

For a moment, Hans looked stunned, his eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. He looked, Agnar noted, rather like a child unexpectedly praised. Then the young king smiled, a warm and genuine smile.

"Thank you, brother."

Agnar watched him leave, watched as Hans met his lovely queen near the balcony doors. They seemed to speak between themselves, their faces open and happy, and then Hans gestured towards the balcony. Unbeknown to them, the King of the Southern Isles saw how their hands found one another and clasped together as the pair looked out over the balcony, framed by the lamplights and house-lights of their good and happy kingdom.

* * *

The ball had lasted long into the late hours of the night; it seemed the Arendellians were eager to make up for lost time at their last royal coronation. Agnar sat down in the desk-chair in his cabin, grateful it was over.

_So, little Hans has become a king. _And of Arendelle, no less. He had expected to feel bitter about that, and a small and puerile part of him had—but in the end he had heeded the better and wiser part. He thought his mother would have been proud.

There was a knock at the door of his cabin, and he rose. Grimsby was outside in the hall. He bowed low. "Your Majesty. The Lady Schönhausen and her son are awaiting your permission to board."

"Her son?" Then he remembered. "Oh, yes, the boy…"

"Yes, Sire, it seems he insisted on coming to see the ship; shall I show them to your cabin?"

"No; I will greet them above-decks. You may go, Grimsby."

"Very good, Sire."

Grimsby left, and the king checked his reflection in the mirror, straightening his military jacket and sword. After that, he didn't know what else to do. He thought about parting his hair differently, and then dismissed the idea as sure to make him look like an idiot. He wished he hadn't dismissed Grimsby; Agnar had rarely concerned himself with the fairer sex precisely insofar as they were, ah, _fairer_ and had little-to-no knowledge of how to proceed with a heady matter like a proposal. The only woman with whom he'd ever had any real contact, beyond flatly dismissing some poor faux-ingenue's attempts at flirtation, was his brother's wife. He wondered how Hans had proposed. Then he realized it didn't matter; neither he nor the Lady Shönhausen, he was sure, were expecting romance from this union.

_The Lady Schönhausen. _Agnar had never been exactly keen on the idea of marriage, though he'd always known it would be a necessity (even in his darkest days he'd seen that Balthazar, who let his petty and sadistic tendencies get the better of his commons ense, was not fit to rule). With a little more self-reflection under his belt these three years later, he could see that his distaste for the institution was due to the abuse his mother and siblings, as well as himself, had suffered at his father's hand. But he had put off his choice of a bride nearly too long, and the offer of a marriage to a powerful League family—who could then back his claim to the Southern throne with more than just words—was too opportune to turn down. _Still, I know nothing about her, _he thought with displeasure, and then: _Perhaps that's for the best. Perhaps we'll rarely have to see each other…_Yes, that would be ideal, she would be free to live as she pleased and he, _he_ would never be tempted to treat her as a kept woman…

He straightened his jacket again and then left, nodding to Bertram as he shut the cabin door behind him. The guard gave a nod back that Agnar thought may have been meant to be encouraging. If it was, it did little to help his mood.

Grimsby was not above-deck when he reached the top of the steps, and that was a matter of no small concern; Agnar had not been expecting to meet the woman alone. He scanned the deck of the ship in quiet despair, and then turned at the sound of the gangplank being lowered.

He caught sight of two figures on the dock below, one definitely feminine, before the shorter figure was dashing up the gangplank with a whoop of glee that caused the king to stumble sideways—and just in time, too, lest the child have barrelled straight into him. There was a blur of black hair and white linen shirt as the boy rushed past him and then stopped in the center of the deck, peering around at the ship with mouth agape in breathless awe. He had a penny-whistle grasped tightly in one fist. _So that's the boy. _Agnar turned. _Then she must be…_

His train of thought abruptly veered off the rails and vanished into the undergrowth.

The woman who was ascending the gangplank was, in an adjective, handsome. As a young woman she must certainly have been a devastating beauty; now approaching middle-age, her beauty had become the stately strength and maturity which suits some women, as some men, better than even the fresh bloom of youth. Her black hair was shot through with flecks of silver, her pale blue eyes edged with the beginning of crows' feet, and when she swept aboard the ship with her gown of dark silk rustling in the evening wind, the king felt the way one does when a sudden thunderstorm whips up over the sea in August.

"Your Majesty." She swept into a curtsy, her pale eyes never leaving his. He cleared his throat and bowed.

"Lady Schönhausen. Ah– I hope the journey went well?"

Her lip quirked. "Yes. A pity we did not have the chance to talk at the ball."

Agnar flushed. He was saved from having to answer when the door to below-decks opened again and Grimsby appeared at the top of it, followed—to the boy's infinite delight—by a small gaggle of gray, fuzzy puppies.

"Oh, wow!"

The king watched, mortified, as the widow's son launched himself into the midst of the barking stampede, giggling as the puppies clambered up onto his knees to lick his face. The Lady Schönhausen chuckled, and the king felt his face turn even redder. "Forgive me, your ladyship," he muttered. "The, ah, the ship's dog just had puppies." _This could not be going worse._

The boy had gotten to his feet and started playing his penny-whistle; one of the pups in particular seemed to appreciate it, leaping around his feet and yapping in time to the music. The boy laughed and played another reel, while the dog did a fairly good, if unintentional, imitation of a jig.

"…Do you like dogs, boy?" Agnar asked, and realized with surprise that despite his embarrassment, a smile had found its way to his face. The widow's son reminded him of himself at that age. The boy turned and nodded eagerly, the "jigging" pup still frockling at his feet. "Why don't you keep that one?"

The child gasped. "You mean it? Really?"

"Mm. What will you name him?"

"Magnus Maximus!"

"He's been studying classical history lately," the widow added. The boy peered up at the stern-faced king and saw, to his delight, a twinkle in his green eyes.

"Maximus is a good name for a dog. Why don't you and Grimsby play with him up here? Your mother and I have important matters to discuss."

"Eric, what do you say?" the widow reminded him.

And then, to Agnar's shock, the boy leapt to his feet and threw his arms around the king's waist.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"Um– certainly." He patted the boy's head, unsure, and the child beamed up at him. "Grimsby, keep him entertained."

"Sire."

They descended below-decks, the sound of the penny-whistle fading away as they walked down the stairs. Agnar glanced around uncomfortably. "He's a fine child."

"He loves dogs," the widow said fondly. "His father's old hunting hound passed just a few months ago."

"Ah. His father has been gone now two years, as I recall."

"Yes; Eric misses him terribly."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

The widow's reply was startlingly frank: "My husband was a good man, but we had little in common. I miss him more as an acquaintance than as a friend."

"I see…" Agnar watched her in curiosity as they passed underneath a lantern. She walked very straight-backed, he noted, with her head lifted. She had a strong jaw. An inkling was beginning to dawn on him that he may have gotten more than he'd bargained for with this one.

Bertram gave them another snap-to-attention salute as they reached the king's cabin and opened the door. "Very spit-and-polish," the widow commented as the door shut behind them.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about the man. My brother swears by his loyalty, though."

"Yes, and goodness knows there's little of that in the Isles at the moment." He was so startled by this decorum-breaching forthrightness that he couldn't conceive of a response, and the Lady Schönhausen was left free to make a survey of the room. She noted the tortoise-shell box and the chess board set out on the desk. "You play?"

"My brothers and I were all taught chess professionally. Our father was insistent on the matter."

"A king insistent on teaching his heir to play chess," she mused. "How very…medieval."

"He was medieval in many manners, your Ladyship—aside, of course, from any of the dignified ones." She snorted at that, and he felt a flash of grim appreciation. People rarely laughed at his jokes. "However, of his many mistakes, insisting we master the game was not, I think, one of them."

"Indeed. I enjoy a good match myself; I have one going with my cousin at the moment."

"I imagine he finds it relaxing." Agnar cast a wry glance at the board. "Pure strategy, with no real consequences."

"Perhaps. I find it rather…invigorating." She must have seen the surprise on his face, for she offered him a dry smile. "There isn't much to do in a nice manor in a pastoral duchy that basically runs itself."

"Surely there are…appropriate diversions. Hosting parties, and such…"

She fixed him with a cool steady gaze. "And what makes you think a woman of my age and capacities has any interest in 'diversions?'"

Agnar colored. He could almost see his youngest brother rolling his eyes at him. _Didn't you learn anything growing up under our father's reign? Mother would have made ten times the ruler he was. _"I…Forgive me, Lady Schönhausen. I spoke foolishly."

"You did," she said, though not unkindly, as she sat down in the chair opposite his. "But you admitted it, and that makes you less of a fool than most people."

"I suppose I'll take that as a compliment." He cleared his throat. "I'm certain you have…anticipated the reason I invited you here this evening."

"The Southern Isles needs a new queen," she said brusquely, "and you need an army that isn't interested in seeing your head in a Francian picnic basket."

"Roughly, yes, that's the shape of things."

"Tying the House of Westergaard to the Iron Chancellor and the house of Eisen is a good start, and I admire your brother's foresight in setting these events in motion. But between the two of us, King Agnar, it will not be enough."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Picnic baskets are a popular commodity, your Majesty; the common people have been known to carry them as often as the military. Giving your people the material opportunities to use them for carrying cheese and wine, I find, helps fill the space which they might otherwise be tempted to occupy with your head." She saw his expression and added: "I do hope you weren't expecting a giggling courtier to wed and bed, King Agnar. Your people need a queen, not a concubine. Though I do find that my, excuse me, _frankness_ of discourse sometimes wounds the pride of powerful men."

"Respectfully, your ladyship, I know something about the dangers of nursing a wounded pride."

He couldn't, quite, restrain the bitterness in his tone. The widow studied him, as if assessing the odds of some decision. Then she spoke.

"King Agnar, if we in Teutonia have heard word of the dissatisfaction in the Isles, then surely it has not escaped your attention in the heart of Hagenkopen."

The king gave her a sharp look. _Is she trying to rub it in? _"The trouble of being the eldest of thirteen, madame, is that there are twelve others who the people always somehow believe will be a better match."

"The people," she countered, "are not interested in your field marshal or a few dowdy ministers of trade."

"Yes, well." He was growing irritated. "Hans has always had a talent for being liked, and he did just stop a war. It's no surprise that the commoners currently favor him."

"And what do you think the Chancellor thought of that?"

"I imagine he anticipated the war would cause some unrest–"

"Anticipated? Or intended?"

Agnar fell silent, startled. He had the feeling he had just overlooked some essential piece of the puzzle.

"Your brother is a dangerous man," the noblewoman stated frankly. "He's even more dangerous now, with the ice queen of Arendelle at his side. In the coming war with Francia–"

"Francia?" The king felt wrong-footed. "Don't you mean the House of Weiss?"

"Of course not." She fixed him with a calculating gaze. "My cousin wants to _unify_ the Germanic kingdoms, not occupy them. What war there will be with Weiss will be brief and negligible compared to the larger conflict; once the northern kingdoms have unified under League control, the Chancellor must persuade the southern kingdoms to join willingly_._ Some are already taking notice; Munichen, for one, is distancing itself from Weiss, but it will need assurances before it joins with anyone."

"And where Munichen goes, the rest will follow," Agnar concluded, nodding in understanding. "I see."

Her eyes widened appreciatively. "You know something of Germanic politics."

"I have made a recent study of it. The rest of the world powers may not understand the significance–" She smiled at the rather polite euphemism, "–of the sudden birth of a Germanic Empire, but the Southern Isles can no longer afford the luxury of ignorance."

She nodded thoughtfully. "To sway the southern kingdoms to the Empire's flag, I believe my cousin will create a common enemy in whose fire the sentiments of brotherhood and fatherland will be formed. That enemy will almost certainly be Francia, thereby framing the League as the southern kingdoms' new protector. Ruthinia would have been another candidate," she added, "but my cousin recognized what the Eastern Mountains and the Francian Emperor did not."

Agnar snorted; of the few hard-and-fast rules of warfare, _do not test a Ruthinian winter_ was the one which the world never quite seemed to learn. The Lady Schönhausen gestured as if the following conclusion were forgone: "An alliance with either your brother or the Queen of Arendelle would be an invaluable asset in winning that war and in convincing formerly Weiss-friendly kingdoms that a Germanic Empire can defend them from exterior threats. The throne of the Southern Isles, I'm sure you agree, would have made a fine reward for such services."

"Queen Elsa would never allow herself to become a pawn in the Chancellor's games."

"No. But he had hoped your brother would. In that, he proved wrong."

_Ahah. _And there it was, the last piece of the puzzle. "So. This whole farce—going to war, losing the duchies—this was merely the Chancellor's manner of courting Hans." The king couldn't help but sound bitter.

"Your brother set you up for success by arranging our courtship," Lady Schönhausen said sharply. "He could have taken the Southern Isles from you and didn't." Agnar, grudgingly, had to concede this. "If we were to marry, and with the might of the League behind you, not one of your aristocratic families, or your brothers, would dare attempt a coup against you. You can proceed with your plan of modernization as you see fit, curry favor with the people and usher your kingdom into an era of stability, economic prosperity and greater enfranchisement for the common man."

Something about her tone made the king peer at her in surprise. "Forgive me, Lady Schönhausen, but you don't sound much like a conservative."

"I'm not." At his surprised expression she tilted her head, pale blue eyes gleaming in the lantern-light. "Is that so surprising?"

"From the cousin of the Iron Chancellor? Indeed it is." He dropped pretenses. "Why are you telling me all of this? Surely your cousin, at the very least, would not want such intimate League details revealed to a foreign monarch."

"Perhaps you have romanced it out of me. I am to be your queen, after all."

"Madame, with all respect, I would thank you not to tease me in such grave matters. I have little experience in romancing—far less, I daresay, than I have in ruling, and I have paid no small price to acquire that." He leaned forward slightly over the desk and met her gaze. "The world has underestimated the House of Eisen, but I am not so much a fool as to make that mistake twice. Your Ladyship."

The woman studied him for a long few seconds, and he knew she was sizing him up once again. Her eyes were that same pale blue as her son's, as the Chancellor's, and her dark gray-flecked hair framed a face equally as iron and calculating. Agnar had spent much of his life trying to prove that he was not the smaller fish in the pond, with mixed success—yet for the first time, he saw in the eyes of an appraiser, neither doubt nor fear, but _respect._

"If my cousin has a fault," she said at last, "it is that, although he may have thought through every move in the game, he never thinks about what will happen after he's won."

"What do you mean?"

The countess ran her fingers along the top of the tortoise-shell box. "When the game is over," she said thoughtfully, "the board doesn't stay set. You put the pieces away, snuff the lights, and close the door." She flipped open the clasp. "And eventually, somebody else comes in for a new game and resets the board. That is my cousin's great flaw. He cannot conceive of a world where he's no longer around to run it. He cannot conceive of a game where he is no longer a player."

Agnar raised his eyebrows. "You believe somebody else will undo his work?"

"The crown prince of Teutonia—and future Kaiser of the Empire—doesn't much care for the Chancellor. He feels overshadowed by von Eisen—wants to make something for himself."

The king caught her meaning. "You mean he wants to fix what isn't broken."

"Precisely. Until that time, if you have the favor of the Chancellor, you have the backing of the League's military might. But your kingdom needs to modernize. _Quickly. _The world is changing, King Agnar. My cousin has created a system only he can hold together, and someday he will not be around to do so. Someday, perhaps not long after, neither will we. What kind of nation do you want to leave for your people? For your children?"

Agnar thought about the little boy who had dashed past his ankles, his penny-whistle clutched in his childish fist. "And you believe you can build the Isles into the sort of nation that can survive those changes?"

"With a Westergaard at my side? I do." She opened the box. "And I believe it would be an enjoyable game."

She did not yet place a single piece, waiting to see if he would accept the unspoken invitation. Agnar met her gray-blue eyes, and to his surprise, felt flattered at how cleverly she'd arranged it. He recalled something Grimsby had said once, about how women usually do the proposing, even if the man offers the more mineral symbol. "I was never as good as my brother at chess," he mused aloud, as he began to set up the board. "But I daresay I can hold my own." He held out the red queen to her.

The lady accepted the move with a smile.

_Fin._

* * *

**A/N: And that's the end of it, folks!**

**I do hope you liked it; this was, as you probably noticed, written in a markedly different (and hopefully more mature) style from _Pierced Hearts,_ though with similar philosophical underpinnings. This was my first experiment in plotting a story from start to finish before actually sitting down to write it, and I'm pleased to say it I think it went well.**

**Obviously, m****uch of this story has been based off (okay, stolen from) Otto von Bismarck and the Second Schleswig-Holstein War. If you would like to learn more about Otto von Bismarck or the war in an entertaining, educational way, feel free to reference _Extra History's_ Otto von Bismarck playlist here: www. youtube. com [slash] ****watch?v=zc3Y-dU_GjM&list=PLhyKYa0YJ_5DTz_FAbdQyXo9TZdx1hTWf .**

**It has, as always, been an honor to write for you; I would like to especially thank Jacob Flores, RedHood001, Usualguest, Sadistic Lunatic, and all my wonderful reviewers for your support of this story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)**

**I'm afraid I probably won't be writing much fanfiction, if any, for a long time after this; I've decided to focus almost exclusively on my own projects. Thank you all, once again, for your support; I would not be where I am today without the Frozen fanfiction community. Writing these stories and getting your feedback, from six years ago to today, gave me confidence in my abilities and hope in my dreams. ****I love you all and wish you all the best in your own writing journeys.**

**For the final time: _p__ax et bonum—_peace and goodwill—to you all, good luck, and farewell.**

**-FFcrazy15**


End file.
